


Runnin'

by Spikedluv



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mention of torture, Werewolf!Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 05:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 115,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a loose re-write of Season One with Stiles as a werewolf.  My original plan was to have the Alpha turn Stiles that night instead of Scott, but I ended up going another route.  This story will not be a direct retelling as some things have changed based on the fact that Stiles has been turned, but I will eventually be touching on all (or most of) the major points from the first season.  Also, some events take place out of order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Episode One: how did the night ever get like this

**Author's Note:**

> The story title and episode titles are taken from Adam Lambert’s _Runnin’_ off his album _Trespassing_.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura is missing; Derek returns to Beacon Hills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written: August 15, 2012

Stiles hated the Hale house. The burnt out shell looked like some creepy haunted house, which Stiles might like in theory, but not so much in practice. And it wasn’t just that. It was as if he could smell the suffering that had occurred there. Stiles knew it was just his imagination – even with a really good sense of smell he knew he couldn’t smell something that had happened there years ago.

And yet, despite the spook factor, here he was. Parked alone outside the creeptastic Hale house. All because he hadn’t heard from Laura in two days. Two days might not seem like much, but Laura had made it a point so spend time with Stiles after school every day. He hadn’t been too worried when Laura had been a no-show yesterday, even though she hadn’t called to let him know that she wouldn’t be there. He figured she’d found a lead and got caught up and lost track of time. But when she didn’t show up today . . . .

Laura would never let two days go by without meeting with Stiles. And certainly not without letting him know she wouldn’t be there. Laura wasn’t the type to let someone worry for nothing, especially not with everything that had been happening in Beacon Hills lately.

Stiles had texted her yesterday, just to check in. When he’d gotten no responses he’d called her and been sent straight to voice mail. That in itself was strange. Laura wasn’t waiting for him at the house that afternoon, and there had still been no replies to either his texts or the voice mail he’d left, so Stiles had decided to go looking for her. Stiles had tried her motel room first, but she hadn’t been there and he hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. The old Hale house was the only other place he could think of to look for her, so, yeah, here he was.

Stiles forced himself to get out of the Jeep. He knew that Laura would do the same for him if the situation was reversed. In fact, he’d expected that if either of them disappeared or needed rescuing, it would have been him. Stiles’ feet moved slowly towards the front steps. He told himself that he was merely taking the time to scout out the area. No sense walking into a trap. The closer he got to the house, though, the more Stiles began to relax. There was something here, a scent, a heartbeat, that reminded him of Laura.

Stiles’ steps quickened in anticipation of finding Laura inside the house. He climbed the steps and crossed the porch, but then hesitated outside the door. He turned the knob and pushed the door open slowly and the hinges creaked loudly (of course they did) to announce his presence to anyone waiting inside. Stiles stepped inside the house. He could see the sky through the missing back walls and roof, and the juxtaposition of blue sky with the charred remains of what had once been someone’s home made Stiles shudder.

“Laura,” Stiles called out softly. He knew she’d hear him if she was there.

Stiles stepped further into the entryway. The floorboards groaned ominously under his feet and in the otherwise silent house the sound seemed extra loud. Stiles turned towards what had once been the living room. He called out for Laura once more as he crossed the threshold. A sound reached Stiles’ ears, a foot sliding through the dirt covering the floor. He turned towards it but he was too slow. Before he knew what was happening someone had grabbed Stiles, fist curled in his hoodie and lifting him off his feet, choking him.

Stiles could make out hair nearly as dark as the scowl aimed at him. There was something familiar about the man, though Stiles couldn’t remember ever having met him, and even without the display of strength he’d have been able to tell that he was a werewolf.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” the man growled.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Stiles managed to choke out.

The man tightened his grip, cutting off Stiles’ air. Stiles saw stars. He didn’t know if this guy was the cause of Laura’s disappearance, but Stiles didn’t want him to be the reason Stiles didn’t make it home tonight. Especially since he’d had chicken breasts marinating in the fridge all day.

Stiles clamped one hand around the man’s wrist and squeezed. If he was surprised at the strength Stiles exhibited he didn’t show it. As he ground the bones in the man’s wrist together Stiles clawed at his eyes with his other (still human) hand. The man blocked the move, but it had only been a feint anyway. While the man was otherwise distracted (and hopefully underestimating him) Stiles brought his knee up into his groin. Laura had taught him that all was fair in love and life or death battles with other werewolves. The man dropped to the floor, but he didn’t release Stiles. His claws had come out, perforating Stiles’ hoodie and gaining him an even better hold on Stiles.

Stiles was never going to get a better chance, though, so he took advantage of it. He skinned out of the hoodie, tearing it as he pulled it the material off over his head. The man lurched to his feet when he saw Stiles making his escape.

“Who taught you to fight like a girl?” the man snarled.

“Yo mama,” Stiles muttered, because even without the ever present ADHD he’d never learned when to keep his mouth shut.

The man shifted form and moved faster than Stiles had ever seen anyone move. He growled and Stiles was faced with a set of fangs that could tear out his throat. He felt a moment of terror followed by pain that blossomed throughout his body, and then everything went dark.

~*~

Stiles woke to a dull throbbing inside his head. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know that the other man was still there. Stiles thought about feigning sleep, but he’d already determined that the man was also a werewolf. There’d be no way to hide the change in his breathing and heart rate from him. In fact, he probably already knew that Stiles was awake.

Stiles knew better than to open his eyes. Even the little bit of light filtering past his eyelids was annoying. If he opened them the glare would stab into his brain like a knife. Stiles attempted to roll to his side so he could get up. He screamed when fire erupted in his chest.

“I reset your collarbone,” the man said, sounding unaffected by Stiles’ cry of pain. “But it’ll take a little while longer to heal completely.”

“Fuck you very much,” Stiles gritted out between clenched teeth as he subsided onto the floor to wait for the pain to recede. “You broke my collarbone?”

“You’re lucky I didn’t break your neck,” the man said mildly.

“How’re your balls?” Stiles asked viciously. Thinking about the pain he’d inflicted was better than thinking about the pain he was currently experiencing. Especially since he expected there to be more in his near future. Though, with that thought in mind, reminding the guy of the damage (even if completely healed by now) that he’d inflicted probably wasn’t the smartest idea he’d ever had.

“Healed faster than your injury,” the man said.

“That’s because I didn’t break your freaking _collarbone_ ,” Stiles retorted. “And what did you do to my head?” Stiles raised a hand to carefully probe at the back of his head. His fingers came away covered with blood. Stiles stared at them as if he’d never seen blood before. “I think you broke me.”

The man rolled his eyes. Stiles couldn’t see it, but he heard it clearly in his voice. “Your mouth is still working. Besides, I’m sure you’ve seen blood before, even your own.”

“Strange as it might seem to you,” Stiles said, “Laura was a little more careful when she . . . .” He trailed off, realizing that he’d said too much. Stupid head injury.

“When she what?” the man said, sounding more gentle than Stiles had ever heard him. “Threw you around?”

Stiles looked away from the man’s piercing gaze and refused to answer.

“Come on,” the man said, ignoring Stiles’ non-response. “You’ve probably healed well enough that you can sit up now.” The man grabbed Stiles under his arms and raised him off the floor. Stiles braced for the stab of pain, but it never came. The man dragged his butt across the floor, which made Stiles wonder what he’d been lying in, and propped him up against the wall.

“Are you going to torture me now?” Stiles said. “Hook me up to a battery, shove splinters under my nails?”

The man’s eyebrows went up. “Do you want me to?”

“No,” Stiles said. “What I want you to do is tell me what you’ve done with Laura.”

“What do you know about Laura?”

Stiles clamped his lips closed and stared at the man. For the first time Stiles got a really good look at him. Dark hair that looked like it lived to defy combs, stubble on his cheeks, dark circles under his eyes. He glared at Stiles, which Stiles figured was supposed to be scary, but Stiles thought he just looked . . . tired.

“Who are you?” Stiles said. The man didn’t answer. “Look, we could sit here all night staring at each other and not answering each other’s questions, but that seems counterproductive to me.”

“Or I could torture you ‘til you tell me what I want to know,” the man suggested evenly, as if he tortured people everyday before breakfast.

“It’s been proven that torture doesn’t actually work,” Stiles said. “I’d say anything I think you want to hear to make it stop and, trust me, I already talk enough.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” the man said dryly. Stiles didn’t respond to that dig and the man went on, “Laura turned you.”

Stiles gasped in surprise. “How did . . . ?” He broke off when he realized that once again he was giving away more than he wanted to.

The man squatted beside Stiles. “My name’s Derek.”

Stiles barked out a humorless laugh, then grabbed for his collarbone which wasn’t yet healed enough for him not to have felt that. “Ow, fuck,” Stiles said. When the pain started to subside he said, “Derek Hale?” At the man’s nod Stiles said, “Boy, was she a bad judge of character.”

Derek’s eyes flashed but Stiles didn’t back down. He went on in a high voice meant to imitate Laura. “If anything happens to me, contact Derek, he’ll help you, you can trust him,” Stiles finished bitterly. “Bull. _Shit_.”

A look that might have been guilt crossed Derek’s face but it was gone quicker than it had come so Stiles couldn’t be sure.

“I didn’t know who you were,” Derek said. “For all I knew you were the reason Laura disappeared.”

Stiles snorted. “I thought the same thing about you. Especially since you _attacked me_. I don’t suppose you have any proof,” he added. “That you are who you say.”

Derek rolled his eyes but he pulled out a wallet and passed a New York State driver’s license to Stiles. Stiles verified the photo and name, and then out of curiosity (a bad habit) he memorized the other information on there before handing it back.

“Stiles,” Stiles said. “My name.”

Derek nodded.

“How did you know Laura turned me?”

“I can smell her on you,” Derek said.

“Then what the hell was all this?” Stiles gestured wildly, indicating his smashed head and broken collarbone.

“It all happened too fast for me to recognize Laura’s scent on you,” Derek said tightly, sounding as if he was unused to having to explain himself.

Stiles could agree that things had gone to shit very quickly, but he wasn’t ready to let Derek off the hook yet since it was _all his fault_. “You could have asked me who I was before you threw me up against the wall.”

Derek gave Stiles a look. “The thought never occurred to me.”

“Wow. I bet you make friends wherever you go. What are you doing here, anyway? I mean, you’ve got to admit it looks pretty suspicious. You show up just when Laura disappears.”

“Do you really believe that you’d still be alive if I was the bad guy here?”

“Maybe Laura wouldn’t tell you something and you think I will,” Stiles retorted.

“Is there something you know that you want to tell me?” Derek said, sounding dangerous.

“Um, no?” Stiles squeaked.

“Why did Laura turn you?” Derek asked.

Stiles shrugged, then remembered his injury. The move didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. “She said she needed my help.”

Derek gave Stiles a skeptical once over. Stiles poked Derek in the chest.

“Yeah, I get it, we can’t all be hot buff dudes. Did you ever think that she wanted me for my brain?”

Derek’s eyebrows went up. “Not your mouth?”

“Why?” Stiles snarked back. “Do _you_ want me for my mouth?”

Stiles’ eyes went wide when his brain caught up with his mouth and he realized just how far off the rails he’d taken their conversation. “Whoa, inappropriate. And also, for the record, that is not what I meant.”

Derek leveled an even stare at Stiles but he didn’t say anything or raise a hand. Stiles couldn’t remain silent forever. Or for 60 seconds.

“Is this your version of torture – stare me into submission?”

Derek didn’t answer. He held out his hands. “Let’s see if you can stand up.”

“You’re not going to knock me back down again, or throw me into another wall, are you?” Derek just stared at him, so Stiles reached out his hands and took Derek’s. “Is it going to hurt?”

“Probably.”

Derek was actually more gentle than Stiles would’ve expected. Still, it wasn’t a picnic. Once he was on his feet Derek led Stiles out of the house, and for some reason he felt better as soon as he stepped onto the porch. There was too much sorrow in there, as if it had been burnt into the wood that remained. Or maybe it had been Derek’s.

“Why did Laura need your brain?” Derek asked.

“Research,” Stiles said. “Someone to bounce ideas off. It didn’t hurt that I was, am, the Sheriff’s son.”

Derek looked impressed. “She did her homework. What was she having you research?”

“Werewolves,” Stiles said.

Laura knew a lot, but there was also a lot that she hadn’t yet been told or taught. That would’ve happened when she was ready, but her parents (along with most of her family) had died before they could pass on the knowledge she needed to be an effective Alpha.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Derek said.

“What aren’t you asking me?”

Instead of snapping at him Derek looked like he was thinking. “Why did she need the Sheriff’s son?”

Stiles smiled. “There is more to you than all those sexy muscles.” At Derek’s growl he hurriedly added, “Because of the murders.”

~*~*~*~

“The murders,” Derek repeated darkly.

They’d reached the Jeep and Derek guided Stiles to the passenger seat.

“I can drive,” Stiles protested.

“You think that now. But you won’t after the first turn you have to make, or after shifting for five minutes.”

Stiles thought about it for a second. “You’re probably right.”

Stiles climbed into Betty and watched Derek walk around the front of her. In the daylight Derek was rather good looking, but somehow the hard line of his jaw made him look even more scary than he had inside the house. Stiles averted his gaze as Derek slid into the driver’s seat. He waited until Derek had started the Jeep and was driving back towards the road to ask, “Is Laura alright?”

Stiles felt Derek’s eyes on him but didn’t turn to face him.

“She’d better be,” Derek said, not bothering to voice the consequences if she wasn’t.

Stiles felt an answering determination inside his chest. “I want to help find her.”

“You’re going to stay out of it,” Derek said without even giving Stiles’ offer a thought.

“I can help you.”

“I work better alone.”

“Shocking,” Stiles said. “But at the very least I can save you time so you don’t have to retrace Laura’s steps. I can bring you up to speed on what we’ve found.”

Derek curled his lips and Stiles expected another rejection. Instead he snarled, “Fine. But that’s as far as it goes. I don’t want you getting in my way.”

“Fine,” Stiles agreed, but there was no way he was going to just step back and let Derek look for Laura without him. As a gesture of good will Stiles said, “I can show you where she was staying.”

“What do you mean, where she was staying?”

“You didn’t think she was staying . . . .” Stiles censored his ‘at this creepy old place’ and said, “Out here.”

Derek’s expression said that’s exactly what he’d thought.

“Who would . . . ? Oh, no, tell me you’re not planning on staying there.”

“Just tell me where she was staying,” Derek growled.

Stiles’ directed Derek to the motel. He parked in front of the room Stiles indicated and then sniffed the air before climbing out of the Jeep.

“Stay here,” Derek snarled at Stiles before stalking over to the room. He gave the exterior of the motel the same sniffing treatment and then broke the lock on the door and stepped inside.

Stiles waited a few seconds until he was sure Derek wasn’t going to come racing out of the room to jump into the Jeep and peel out of the parking lot. He was starting to move easier so it didn’t take him as long to get out of Betty as it had taken to climb in.

Stiles pushed the door open and slipped into Laura’s motel room. Derek, who stood in the middle of the room looking around, didn’t even turn to glare at him. The room was eery for the fact that nothing looked disturbed. It appeared that Laura would be walking back through the door at any moment.

“Her laptop’s missing,” Stiles said quietly, because his indoor voice seemed appropriate for the occasion. “But she carries it with her all the time so that might not mean anything.”

“What else?”

“It doesn’t smell like anyone besides Laura,” Stiles said, suddenly missing her so much he could cry. It almost felt like his mom dying all over again, which might seem like blasphemy, especially given how short a time he’d known Laura, but the thought of her never coming back made his heart ache.

“What does seem off?” Derek said impatiently.

“Nothing. It looks just like it did the last time I was here.” Stiles stared at the uncomfortable chair he’d sat in and remembered how they’d crammed at the desk and stared at her computer screen.

“Check the desk, see if she left anything that’ll help.”

“Help what?” Stiles said as he began opening desk drawers.

“Figure out where she went,” Derek said as he opened and closed dresser drawers and then moved over to the night stands.

The desk drawers revealed nothing. The only thing in the closet was a duffle bag and a plastic bag with a drawstring that Stiles supposed contained dirty clothes. Used towels hung over the shower bar in the bathroom (they were completely dry, Stiles checked) and a small toiletry bag sat near the sink. There was nothing hidden within the folded towels or inside the toilet tank.

When Stiles stepped out of the bathroom the mattress was askew as if Derek had lifted it, and he was looking at something he’d dug out of the side pocket of the duffel. He didn’t seem ready to share so Stiles walked over to the mini-fridge and checked the small ice box, which held nothing but chunks of ice. Somebody should really defrost it.

“What’s that?” Stiles asked when Derek stopped flipping through papers and concentrated hard on one in particular.

Derek waved the paper at Stiles. “Rental car receipt.”

Derek grabbed Laura’s duffel and laundry bags (and the toiletry bag Stiles remembered) and they went back out to Stiles’ Jeep. Stiles figured it was for the best since they had no idea how far ahead Laura had paid up, and now that Derek had broken the lock anything could easily be stolen. Stiles dropped Laura’s bags into the back of the Jeep while Derek pulled the door closed and tried to camouflage that someone had broken in, but the damage was clearly visible.

“What now?” Stiles said.

“Now I take you home and follow up on the rental car,” Derek said decisively. Stiles didn’t argue. It was getting late and his dad would be home soon, and there was an ache in Stiles’ chest that had nothing to do with the broken collarbone.

~*~

Stiles washed and sliced potatoes for Gus’s Potatoes, a recipe his mom had gotten from a second cousin once removed or something, and which thereafter bore his name. They were a favorite in the Stilinski household. He measured grated cheese, garlic powder, salt and pepper into the olive oil, stirred it together and poured the mixture over the potato wedges and stuck the pan in the oven. The potatoes would take longer to bake than the chicken breasts needed on the grill so he ran upstairs to take a hot shower.

Stiles felt dirty after having laid on the floor in the Hale house, but mostly he wanted to check his chest. It had stopped twinging every time he moved, and for the most part he’d stopped expecting it to. But there was still this small part of him that couldn’t believe that he could be hurt as badly as he had been and be healed a couple hours later.

Stiles turned on the shower to let the water warm up and then stood in front of the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. He slowly pulled his t-shirt off over his head and examined his chest. He brought up a hand and touched the unblemished skin. There was some tenderness, nothing more than if Scott had given him a hit while they were horsing around, and by tomorrow there wouldn’t even be a trace of that.

“Have you met a girl?”

Stiles jumped at the sound of his father’s voice and turned to look at him. “What?”

“A girl,” his dad repeated. “I can’t think of another reason for you to be staring at yourself like that.”

“No!” Stiles said, shaking his head. “There is no girl.”

His father nodded and moved to leave, then looked back at Stiles. “A boy?”

“What?” Stiles yelped. “No! No boy or girl!”

“Okay, just . . . okay. You’re wasting hot water,” his dad said, and then walked away, leaving Stiles gaping after him.

Stiles showered and tried not to think about his father’s seeming open-mindedness where Stiles’ love life (or lack thereof) was concerned. When he got downstairs his dad had gotten the chicken out of the fridge and had started the grill.

“I’ll watch the grill,” his dad offered. “Why don’t you bring down some homework and keep me company?”

Stiles brought down his History book because he had that class first period. He opened the book to the assigned chapter but it was difficult to concentrate because his mind kept drifting to Laura, and by extension, to Derek. Stiles realized that Derek had never answer his question about why he’d come back to Beacon Hills. Conveniently just when Laura disappeared.

Eating was done mostly in silence as they both stuffed their faces, with the occasional grunt to indicate that the meal was good. After supper Stiles’ dad offered to clean up the dishes and Stiles took him up on it without a second thought. He didn’t mind cooking – there was something calming in the fixing of a meal that settled even his normally hyperactive brain – but he hated the clean up.

As soon as he was in his room Stiles called Scott so they could collaborate on the homework assignments for the classes they had together. They started with History. Scott hadn’t read the chapter yet but he was really good at skimming the text to find the relevant bits for the questions they had to answer. They moved on to Chemistry, which they both hated but knew they’d have to pass if they wanted to be on the lacrosse team.

“Maybe Laura should tutor us both in Chemistry,” Scott said disgustedly when they’d spent way too long on one problem.

“I’ll ask her,” Stiles said, hoping his voice didn’t give anything away.

The cover for why he spent so much time with Laura was that she was tutoring him in math, the one class he didn’t share with Scott. It had turned out to be a _horrible_ cover because with all the time they spent training Stiles to control his new werewolf nature and investigating the murders, Stiles had _less_ time to spend on doing any homework. It had gotten to the point where Laura’d had to spent a couple nights _actually_ tutoring him so he could pass an exam.

Also, Stiles hadn’t yet told Scott that Laura was missing because then he’d have to come up with a good reason why he was worried about her after just two days that didn’t include werewolves or murders. And now he’d have to hide the fight he’d had with Derek as well as the fact that they’d broken into Laura’s motel room (even if Derek had left some cash to cover the damages that he thought Stiles hadn’t seen). It was just easier to avoid the matter altogether.

The conversation moved to lacrosse practice, which started the following week. Scott was looking forward to it, determined to make first line rather than warming the bench as they’d both done last season. Stiles hadn’t been quite as excited as Scott because he hadn’t had any illusions about where his ass was going to be planted during games. Now he was looking forward to it even less.

Laura had warned him about the trouble he might have controlling himself while playing a sport as aggressive as lacrosse and they’d been working on that. Stiles had been more worried about hiding the fact that he’d suddenly gained mad lacrosse skills when he’d previously tripped over his own feet just walking down the hall. And now Laura, Stiles’ only werewolf support system, was missing.

Stiles was almost glad when his dad stuck his head in the door and told Stiles to hang up and get ready for bed. “Goodnight, Scott,” he called, and left Stiles with a look that reminded him not to get into another long, drawn out conversation with Scott about Seven of Nine versus Princess Leia, or whatever they usually argued about.

He and Scott said their goodbyes and Stiles disconnected. He twirled the chair around to get up and saw Derek sitting on his window sill. Startled, Stiles shoved himself back so hard the chair started to fall over backwards. Stiles used his newly acquired gifts of strength and speed to keep from landing on his back and smashing his head on the floor. Two head wounds in one day was probably more than he needed, even as a werewolf. Still, Stiles ended up on his hands and knees and the chair hit the floor with a bang. At least without him in it.

“Stiles?” his dad called.

“I’m fine!” Stiles called back. “Just fell out of my chair,” he added as he regained his feet and picked up the chair, settling it back in front of the desk.

“Alright,” his dad called back, sounding unconcerned.

What was his life that falling out of a chair was a normal occurrence?

Stiles turned his attention to Derek, who still sat on the sill. It looked like he hadn’t moved, not even to help Stiles _not crack his head open_. He didn’t look the slightest bit concerned, either, and actually appeared annoyed.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. “Did my almost smacking my head on the floor take up too much of your precious time? What are you doing here, anyway? And what’s wrong with using the front door like normal people do?”

Derek ignored Stiles. He stood up and looked around Stiles’ bedroom. Then looked at Stiles as if just noticing him. “I need to know what you know about the murders.”

“Now?” Stiles hissed. “In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s late, and my dad’s just down the hall.”

Derek just stared at him as if he could make Stiles do what he wanted with just the power of his mind. Stiles didn’t want to find out if he really could do that so he looked away.

“I’ll meet you tomorrow after school,” Stiles said.

Derek didn’t look like he was happy about that suggestion but Stiles wasn’t going to back down. The last thing he needed was for his dad to discover Derek in his room, especially after the awkward conversation in the bathroom earlier. (Actually, the last thing he needed was for his dad to discover that Stiles had stuck his nose into several of his open investigations, and on top of that had broken into a motel room and withheld possibly relevant information from him, but finding a guy in his room, especially an older guy, one that looked like Derek, was a close second.)

Finally Derek said, “Fine, where?”

“Here?” Stiles suggested. “Well, not _here_ , as in my bedroom, but here, as in the house.”

Derek was already shaking his head no. “I don’t want to alert anyone that I’m back in town.”

“O-kay,” Stiles said. That hadn’t been a problem with Laura. She’d made her return quietly, but she hadn’t hidden. She’d found Stiles and turned him, and then they came up with the brilliant tutor excuse for her to meet with him, both at the house and in her motel room, though his dad didn’t know about that. “What do you suggest, then? And please don’t say . . . .”

“Out at the house.”

“ . . . the old Hale house. Seriously?”

“It’s private,” Derek said.

Stiles wanted to come back with ‘it’s creepy’, but something stayed his tongue – discretion or self-preservation, Stiles wasn’t sure. Most of Derek’s family had died there, except for his sister, who was now missing, and an uncle, who’d been in a coma ever since the fire, and to him it was probably filled with memories, and not all of them good. Stiles remembered the sad look that crossed Laura’s face when she took him out there to train.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Fine.” Derek was right about one thing, they needed privacy to discuss this. “Just . . . please tell me that you’re not staying out there.”

Derek didn’t answer.

“You are, aren’t you? It’s not healthy, you know?”

Derek turned his back on Stiles and walked over to the window.

“Hey, you never said, what happened with the rental car?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” Derek said.

“Oh, nice,” Stiles said as his own argument was turned back on him.

An emotion that Stiles might actually have thought was amusement tilted the corners of Derek’s eyes. It was there and gone almost as quickly as Derek was.

“Thanks for dropping by,” Stiles muttered as he closed (and made a great show of locking) the window.

In the distance, the howl of a wolf answered him.

“Oh, yeah, that’s the way to stay under the radar.”

~*~*~*~

Derek was exercising when Stiles arrived at the old Hale house after school on Friday. He’d stopped by his own house long enough to get his laptop and a folder of newspaper clippings, and to leave his dad a note that said he’d gone to Laura’s place (without mentioning that Laura wouldn’t be there, or that by ‘Laura’s place’ he meant the creepy Hale house) in case he got home before Stiles did. Derek ignored Stiles as he finished doing pull ups by curling his fingers over the door jam (Stiles wondered if that might be enough to pull the house down around their ears), and then dropped to the floor to do an impressive number of push ups. The showoff.

Stiles stared. He told himself that it was just because he was checking out Derek’s form and not because of the way the muscles bunched in his shoulders, or the way his waist tapered in just a little bit before disappearing into his jeans. Jeans that fit really nicely over his well-shaped ass.

Derek finished with the push ups and gracefully got to his feet. Stiles watched as Derek grabbed a shirt and wiped it across his chest. Derek said something but Stiles missed it. He blamed Derek’s chest for being so distracting.

Stiles dragged his eyes away from said chest. “What?”

“What have you got?” Derek repeated impatiently.

“Wow, really? Hi, Derek,” Stiles said, and waited.

It took Derek a couple seconds to comprehend what Stiles meant, and when he did he curled his lips. “Hi, Stiles. What have you got?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m not doing this in here. It’s too dark.” He didn’t think Derek would appreciate Stiles calling his childhood home creepy, even though it totally was.

Stiles sat on the top step of the porch since there was nowhere else to sit and powered up his laptop. “Visual aids,” Stiles said when he heard Derek step up behind him. “I can’t actually do any research out here because there’s no wifi signal, but I’ve got some stuff saved. Also,” Stiles waved the folder. “Newspaper clippings. Sit,” Stiles commanded.

To Stiles’ surprise, Derek sat. And grabbed the folder out of Stiles’ hand. Which was less surprising.

“Uh . . . okay,” Stiles said as Derek opened the folder.

On top was the newspaper article with the photo of the deer bearing the spiral carved into its side. Stiles found it difficult to look at, even as a werewolf. “That’s what brought Laura back,” he said, speaking softly.

Even so, Derek’s head jerked up.

“You didn’t know she was keeping track of things here?”

Derek didn’t answer, which Stiles took as a no. He flipped through the rest of the newspaper clippings before returning to the reports of the first murder.

“The murders started just after Laura got back. They’re calling them animal attacks for now, but Laura thought it was a . . . .”

“Werewolf,” Derek finished.

Stiles didn’t bother affirming that; he didn’t think Derek was listening anyway. Stiles tried to be quiet so Derek could concentrate. To bleed off the energy usually expended by his mouth Stiles’ knee started bouncing. Stiles was looking at Derek’s fingers as he held the folder, turned the pages, but he felt Derek’s eyes on him.

Stiles forced his knee still. “Sorry. I’m not used to going this long without talking.”

Derek’s eyebrow went up.

“I know,” Stiles said, “but not everyone can be the strong, silent type, some of us need to . . . .”

Derek put his hand on Stiles’ knee, which had started jiggling again, and the nervous energy bled right out of him. It reminded Stiles of how Laura could calm him with just a look. Stiles reflexively leaned closer to Derek until their shoulders touched, until the scent of him filled Stiles’ nostrils. If anyone (and by anyone Stiles meant Derek) asked, he was merely looking at the newspaper articles and not basking in the familiarity of Derek’s scent.

“Just the two murders so far?”

Stiles ignored the ‘just’ and said, “Yeah. But Laura thought the werewolf was still around.”

“Why?” Derek said.

“Why did Laura think that?” Stiles asked.

Derek continued on as if Stiles hadn’t even spoken. “Why these victims? Why would the werewolf still be here? Why would it have come here at all? Why the sign of a vendetta?”

Stiles decided to start with the questions that they’d still been pondering, even though Derek hadn’t really been asking him directly. “Laura wondered if it was someone that might have survived the fire,” he said, gauging Derek’s reaction to mention of the fire. There was a tic in his jaw, but nothing else. “Or maybe a distant relative.”

“There are no distant relatives,” Derek said. “In any case, why wait so long? But if it’s _not_ a Hale, or not related to the fire, then who? This was Hale territory.”

“We never really got past the tossing ideas out there stage on this one,” Stiles admitted.

“What _do_ you know?” Derek said gruffly, but not meanly. Stiles wasn’t sure how he knew the difference.

Stiles tapped the keys on his computer. “Police reports. Including the coroner’s reports. If my dad ever finds out I did this he will _kill_ me, or ground me for life, which would actually be worse, so mum’s the word, okay?”

Derek took the laptop out of Stiles’ hands without replying, and balanced it on his own knees.

“O-kay, then,” Stiles said, reluctantly letting his baby go. “You . . . just be gentle with her.”

Derek didn’t dignify that with a response, not even of the raised eyebrow variety. With nothing to do while Derek read the reports Stiles’ knee started bouncing again. Derek reached out without taking his eyes off the screen and pulled Stiles’ leg against his own. Derek returned his hand to steadying the laptop while the other worked the mouse pad. Stiles inched closer to Derek until they were pressed together from knee to shoulder. Derek didn’t comment on it, just let Stiles soak in his presence.

Finally Derek closed the document he’d been studying and growled, “These reports don’t tell me anything.”

“Well, yeah,” Stiles said. “That’s because they’re going on the theory that it’s a wild animal. They don’t realize that it’s a werewolf vendetta. Silly them.”

“How do these victims even fit in?” Derek said, ignoring Stiles’ sarcasm. “Unless this supposed vendetta is just a coincidence and has nothing to do with us,” he added hopefully.

“Actually . . . .”

Derek glared at him. “What are you keeping from me?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m not keeping anything from you, we just haven’t gotten there yet.” Stiles took his laptop away from Derek and tapped some keys, bringing up the background reports they’d run on the victims. He turned the laptop towards Derek so he could read them.

“What am I looking for?” Derek said as his eyes scanned the screen. Stiles knew when Derek found it because he went tense all along Stiles’ side where they were still pressed together. The first victim, the bus driver, had been the fire investigator that had been involved in the investigation of the fire out here at the Hale house. The second, the video store clerk, had been a suspected arsonist.

“Yeah,” Stiles said quietly. Someone was seeking vengeance on behalf of the Hale family. “That’s why Laura was so determined to find out who was committing the murders. Aside from the whole rogue werewolf issue.”

Derek stood up suddenly and Stiles felt cold all along his side. “Is that everything you’ve found?”

“About the murders, yes.”

Derek turned without another word and walked across the porch to the front door. Stiles closed his laptop and sat there, at a loss for what to do next. He normally trained with Laura after they talked about the murders (and sometimes during a brainstorming session). It helped to work off the frustration of getting exactly nowhere, and also helped Stiles hone his newly gained superpowers. They’d trained everyday – Laura had stressed the importance of Stiles being able to control not only his change, but his enhanced senses and reflexes so that he didn’t give himself away.

It had already been two days of missed training, and the full moon was a week away. Laura had been pleased with Stiles’ progress, but she wasn’t here now to guide him through his first full moon. Stiles felt a panic attack coming on. He hadn’t had one for six months now, not even when he’d woken up a werewolf. Laura had been there to explain everything to him, though it had been her scent more than her words that had comforted him then.

Which reminded Stiles of how he’d reacted to Derek. Laura had explained to him about pack, but when it was just the two of them Stiles had only understood intellectually what his relationship would be with his pack mates. Despite the age difference, Derek was his pack mate. With Laura missing, Derek’s presence was even more important to him, Stiles could only guess.

“You’re still here.”

Stiles jumped and nearly dropped his laptop. “Geeze! A little warning next time?”

“You should have heard me.”

“Well, I was thinking.”

Derek’s eyes fell to the laptop.

“No, not about that. About the disconcerting fact that I want to cuddle with you when I don’t even like you very much,” Stiles said, irritated.

The corner of Derek’s eye twitched. Stiles’ eye wanted to twitch in sympathy.

“And also, the fact that I haven’t trained in a couple of days. We used to train everyday.”

Derek’s lips lost their tightness and he actually looked interested. “What were you training for?”

“Everything,” Stiles said. “Laura was teaching me how to protect myself. She said that being stronger and faster doesn’t necessarily make you better at defending yourself, and I wasn’t exactly . . . .” Stiles gestured towards Derek’s muscles. “Also, how to control my enhanced senses and reflexes so I don’t give myself away. Which is especially important with lacrosse season starting next week. And how to control the change.”

Derek’s eyebrows went up at that. “How new _are_ you?”

“Just under three weeks,” Stiles said, realizing that it was nearly three weeks to the night Laura had turned him.

“You’ve never been through a full moon before?”

Stiles shook his head.

Derek pushed a hand through his hair. “Jesus, what was she thinking?”

Stiles bit his lip on a retort because he really needed Derek’s help, even if Derek would normally be the last person he’d turn to for help. Derek was the only werewolf that Stiles knew, aside from Laura, and Stiles understood the dangers if he wasn’t able to control the wolf come the full moon. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, but especially not his father or Scott.

Derek sighed heavily. “Fine, we’ll train. Put those away.”

“Thank you!” Stiles jogged over to Betty to stow the laptop and folder on the front passenger seat. When he turned around to return to the porch, Derek was standing right behind him. Stiles did not scream like a little girl.

“First lesson, you need to pay better attention,” Derek growled.

And then he picked up Stiles and tossed him through the air. It was actually similar to one of the moves Laura would pull on him and Stiles wondered if it was a training exercise they learned as children from their family. He made a note to ask later.

Stiles shifted form mid-air, twisting his body so that he landed lightly on all fours rather than slamming onto the ground on his back. Stiles’ legs were coiled beneath him, imbued with a strength that still felt strange to him, ready to spring.

Derek wasn’t where he’d been just moments before. Stiles looked around the clearing, frowning in confusion until he remembered Derek’s admonition that he needed to pay attention. Stiles looked around once again, more carefully this time. When he still saw nothing of Derek Stiles closed his eyes and extended his other senses.

Stiles listened, but he heard nothing. Either Derek was moving silently (in which case he had to teach Stiles how to do that), or he’d gone to ground. Stiles raised his face to the sky and sniffed. At first he got nothing, then . . . there. Stiles bounded forward, following Derek’s scent.

Derek led him a merry chase. Stiles followed a scent trail that looped back on itself more than once and which eventually led him back to the house. When Stiles ran around to the front Derek was sitting on the porch, calmly waiting for him. Winded, Stiles collapsed at the foot of the steps. Derek didn’t look the slightest bit out of breath, which Stiles thought was totally unfair.

“Push ups,” Derek said. “We’ll start with 20.”

Stiles raised his head up off the ground and gave Derek a look of disbelief. Derek wasn’t kidding. Stiles grumbled, “I can’t believe I _asked_ for this,” and rolled onto his stomach, but not before he saw the corner of Derek’s lips twitch.

After the push ups Derek had Stiles climb trees until his arms felt like they were going to fall off. They moved back to the porch and Derek had Stiles jump off the railing, first practicing landing without twisting an ankle, and then rolling. Then, just for shits and giggles, he had Stiles rush him so he could toss him through the air some more. Fun times were had by exactly no one. Well, by Derek, but he didn’t count.

When they were finally done and Stiles was dragging himself to his Jeep he remembered Laura’s rental. He turned back to Derek. “Oh, hey, you didn’t tell me what you found out about the rental car.”

A shadow passed over Derek’s face and Stiles knew it wasn’t going to be good news.

“I called the rental company,” Derek said evenly. “The car was returned. They found it sitting in the parking lot.”

Stiles swallowed hard. “When?”

“Yesterday morning,” Derek said, his voice clipped.

Stiles’ heart dropped into his stomach. Laura wouldn’t have left. Not without telling him. And not before they knew what was going on with the murders. And besides, she’d left her clothes behind. He couldn’t help fearing that something had happened to her. “I miss her,” Stiles said before he realized he’d spoken the sentiment out loud.

Derek looked like he’d bitten into something bitter. “Just this once, and we never speak of it again.”

Derek held out his arm and, embarrassingly, it was the only invitation Stiles needed. Derek closed his fingers on Stiles’ shoulder and squeezed. Not enough to hurt, but as if to say, “I’m here.” When Derek released him, Stiles threw himself at Derek and pressed his face to the clean t-shirt that couldn’t hide the scent of Derek and pack even beneath the detergent. Derek stiffly patted Stiles’ back in an attempt to give him the _most awkward hug ever_.

As much as he needed this right now Stiles knew he’d be embarrassed when the need to be close to someone who had in turn been close to Laura wore off, but it would be tempered ever so slightly by the fact of Derek pressing his nose against Stiles’ neck and inhaling him, as well.

~*~*~*~

Stiles woke to the scent of frying bacon. His mouth was watering before he’d even untangled his legs from the sheets. When he stumbled into the kitchen his dad was just sliding the eggs he’d cooked onto buttered English muffins. Stiles made an unintelligible sound that meant “gimme, gimme, gimme.”

“Morning, Sunshine,” his dad said as he placed bacon on top of the melted cheese and slid one plate over to Stiles.

Stiles took a big bite of the sandwich and yolk ran down his fingers. He ignored it until he’d finished chewing, and then licked it off. His father was still watching him with resigned amusement, but Stiles had already taken another bite and couldn’t ask him to explain himself.

“Hungry?”

Stiles agreed through another mouthful of egg, cheese and bacon-y goodness. He couldn’t remember ever being quite this hungry before. Must be the paces Derek had put him through yesterday.

“Would you like another?”

Stiles eyed up his father’s half-eaten bacon, egg and cheese muffin a la Stilinski. His dad pulled the plate closer and curled his arm protectively around it.

“Turn the burner back on and put down another muffin,” his dad said, sounding amused.

Stiles finished the second sandwich and thought he could eat a third, but he didn’t want to make his dad suspicious so he settled for two. After breakfast Stiles called Scott and for the next couple hours his dwarf alter ego and Scott’s elf battled trolls and orcs until Scott’s mom called him away.

Scott grimaced. His great-aunt was turning 80 and they were having a birthday party for her. Family Scott hadn’t seen in years had flown in for the occasion, but he wasn’t looking forward to the pinched cheeks he was sure to have to grin and bear. Stiles smirked until he remembered that he didn’t have it any better because Derek was going to throw him around some more that afternoon.

Stiles’ dad was working on the flowerbeds his mom had loved so much when Stiles finally found him. He sat on the step and watched for a few minutes, remembering how the beds had been a labor of love for his mother.

“I’m gonna make a sandwich. You want one?”

His dad’s eyebrows went up. “You’re already hungry?”

“I’m a growing boy.”

“You’re a bottomless pit.”

“That, too. So, is that a yes on the sandwich?”

“Sure. I’ll be in in a little while.”

“Okay.” Stiles watched his dad work for a couple seconds more and then went inside. He cut four slices of bread off the loaf of whole grain he’d gotten from the bakery the other day and pulled out the fixings. There was some bacon that had been salvaged from breakfast so Stiles decided on turkey clubs. He’d just finished the sandwiches when his dad poked his head in the kitchen.

“I just have to wash up.”

Stiles cut the sandwiches in half for easier eating and placed the plates on the kitchen table. He poured drinks for them both and had just sat down when his dad reappeared.

“I’m surprised there’s anything left, the way you hoovered down breakfast,” his dad said as he took a bite of the sandwich.

Stiles refused to dignify that with a response. Mostly because he didn’t have a good one. But also because his mouth was full of turkey club.

As he was putting stuff away after they’d eaten Stiles decided to make a sandwich for Derek. He was staying in a house with no roof, much less electricity, and if he was keeping a low profile he wouldn’t be hitting the local fast food joints. He didn’t know what Derek was eating unless it was household pets. Raw.

Stiles hadn’t developed a hankering for kitty, but he made a mental note to keep an eye out for missing pets just in case. He hid the sandwich behind the milk, which he could only get his dad to drink if it was in a bowl of cereal or he added chocolate sauce to it. He’d never find it back there unless he was looking for the chocolate sauce, which Stiles had also hidden behind the milk.

Stiles did homework while his dad showered and got ready to go in to the Sheriff’s office for a couple hours like he did every Saturday after spending the morning puttering around the house. It wasn’t his day on, but he liked to make an appearance, use the time to get some of the paperwork he’d neglected done. And there was more of it lately, with the “wild animal attacks” scaring everyone.

His dad poked his head into Stiles’ room before he left to say goodbye. “You seeing Laura this afternoon?”

“I’m supposed to,” Stiles said, which wasn’t a lie.

Stiles waited for ten minutes after he heard his dad pull out of the driveway. He used the time to throw some books into his backpack to make it look good, and then snagged Derek’s sandwich out of the fridge.

~*~

Derek looked like he’d just woken up when he opened the door to Stiles’ knock. Even though most of the house was open to the elements (and still smelled of smoke and despair), Stiles thought it was only polite.

“Are you more of a night person?” Stiles asked. “Because that would actually explain a lot. Like your grumpy behavior yesterday.”

Derek frowned. To forestall a scathing reply (probably of the non-verbal glare variety) Stiles shoved the sandwich into Derek’s chest. Derek reflexively closed his hand around the sandwich and stared at it as if he’d never seen a sandwich before. Rather than easing, the frown deepened.

“It’s not going to bite you,” Stiles said, grinning. “You like that? Werewolf humor.”

The glare he got in response said that no, Derek did not like that.

Stiles sighed. “It’s a sandwich.”

“I know what it is. I don’t need you bringing me food.”

“I’m just looking out for the neighborhood cats,” Stiles said.

“What? No, you know what, never mind. I don’t want to know what you’re babbling on about.”

“Look, if you’re not going to eat that,” Stiles started. He didn’t miss Derek pulling the sandwich a little closer to his chest. “Turkey club,” he added temptingly.

Stiles was only a little bit disappointed when Derek unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. And then another, as if maybe he hadn’t eaten since yesterday before he got into town.

“Why am I so hungry lately?” Stiles said as he stared longingly at the sandwich disappearing down Derek’s gullet.

“It’s your metabolism,” Derek replied around a mouthful of turkey and bacon. “From being turned. It’ll level back out after a while.”

“You must be hungry, too,” Stiles observed as Derek licked mayo off his fingers. “The way you _wolfed down_ that sandwich.” Stiles grinned and waited for Derek to appreciate the joke.

Instead, Derek looked like he wished Stiles would go away. The expected order to leave didn’t come, but rather the command for, “Sit ups.”

“What?”

“20.”

“Seriously?” Stiles didn’t know why he asked. Derek didn’t do anything that wasn’t serious. He eyed the ground with trepidation.

“Not there.”

Stiles looked at Derek, who was pointing up, which is how Stiles ended up hanging upside down by his knees from a tree branch much too far off the ground for his own comfort, pulling his torso up. He did twenty crunches from the center, and twenty from each side for his obliques. Stiles hated his obliques. Just when he thought he was done he found himself hanging by his hands, first pulling himself up, then pulling his knees up to his chest, combining pull ups with more ab work.

When Derek finally let Stiles fall to the ground he prayed that was the end of it. Of course it wasn’t.

“Run.”

“What?”

“Run,” Derek repeated. “Hide. I’m going to try and find you.”

“You want me to just . . . .” Stiles gestured towards the woods.

“Yes.”

“What if I get lost?”

Derek’s smile showed fang. “I’ll find you.”

“Strangely enough, _not_ reassuring,” Stiles said.

“Run!” Derek growled, this time with fangs, claws and flashing yellow eyes backing him up.

Stiles’ stomach (and places lower) clenched in mind numbing fear. Even though he was a werewolf now, he could sense Derek’s power. He knew that Derek was older than him, more experienced, stronger, but it wasn’t the intellectual knowledge that made his knees go weak and his legs turn to jelly as he turned and took off towards the tree line. His only consolation was that he hadn’t pissed his pants. Though the day was early yet.

Stiles raced headlong through the woods with no idea of where he was going. And with absolutely no grace. Where were his werewolf senses and reflexes when he needed them? Stiles tripped over a root and nearly twisted an ankle when he stepped on a branch hidden beneath the leaves.

He ran until his lungs protested each attempt to draw air. Wasn’t he supposed to have better endurance than this? Stiles finally found a tree with large roots that he could tuck himself into. It wasn’t ideal, but he didn’t think he could make it much further. Stiles tried to slow his breathing, knew that Derek would be able to hear his gasps for air. He was torn between not wanting Derek to find him, and not wanting to spend the night in the woods.

Stiles leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes. He tried to calm his heartbeat. When he opened his eyes Derek was standing right in front of him.

“Jesus!” Stiles cried out as he his heart rate skyrocketed.

“You should have heard me,” Derek said.

“Well, I didn’t. And thank you for the heart attack.”

“Come on,” Derek said. “Let’s go back to the house.” And then Derek disappeared between the trees.

“Wait, wha–? Asshole,” Stiles muttered as he struggled to his feet.

Stiles listened. He could hear nothing besides the noises his own body was making no matter how hard he tried to silence them. He couldn’t rely on sound or sight, taste or touch, so he fell back on smell again. Stiles wondered if he should be worried that he knew Derek’s scent so well.

This time Derek’s scent led him in a straight line back to the house with no doubling back or attempts to hide his trail from Stiles. As soon as he stepped into the clearing surrounding the house Stiles was hit in the shoulder with something. He looked to where it had rolled after bouncing off his body: a tennis ball.

“You were supposed to get out of the way,” Derek said dryly.

“I didn’t know you were . . . !”

The second one hit him in the thigh.

“Ow! Where did you even get . . . ?”

Stiles grabbed the third ball out of the air and whipped it back at Derek. It missed. Of course it did. Derek’s next throw hit him in the hip. Stiles ducked the fifth and pounced on one of the balls that had hit him previously. He lobbed the ball at Derek even as he rolled. Derek’s next throw landed harmlessly on the ground. Stiles made the mistake of feeling pleased with himself and Derek’s next throw took him in the belly and knocked the wind out of him.

~*~

Stiles’ father merely raised an eyebrow when Stiles came out of the bathroom trailing steam that smelled of his mother’s bath oil. Intellectually, Stiles knew that he didn’t have to soak in a hot bath to recover from the days’ activities, but he couldn’t rid himself of the _feeling_ that he needed to. His dad announced that he’d brought home dinner and then went back downstairs before Stiles could grill him about it. Not that he needed to. Stiles had been smelling the pizza since his father had opened the car door to get out. It was probably the only thing that could have dragged him from the tub.

Stiles dressed and headed for the kitchen. His dad didn’t know that Stiles already knew what kind of pizza it was, and there was no sense letting him get complacent in thinking that Stiles wouldn’t hold him to their deal. (There was only one rule in the Stilinski household when it came to pizza – his dad could order anything he wanted so long as there were also vegetables on it. Occasionally he got around the intent of the rule by ordering half meat and half veggie and only eating a veggie slice when Stiles made him.)

“There had better be . . . ,” Stiles started as he walked into the kitchen.

His father opened the pizza box and the scent of broccoli and ricotta assailed Stiles’ nostrils. He figured he’d made his point, so Stiles just grabbed a piece and took a huge bite, burning the roof of his mouth on the still piping hot cheese. His dad just shook his head as he placed another slice onto a plate for Stiles, and two slices on a plate for himself before closing the box back up and sitting down at the table.

After dinner they watched a movie, and then Stiles went up to bed and slept like a baby.

Sunday was much like Saturday had been. Stiles ate breakfast with his dad (who went into the Sheriff’s department early because he worked a full shift on Sunday), talked with Scott (who was freaking out about the first lacrosse practice tomorrow after school), did some homework, and then went over to Derek’s for more training. Stiles was not surprised when he was told to hit the ground for push ups, which were followed by sit ups and pull ups.

Stiles got out the lacrosse sticks he’d brought, his own and the one his mom had used when they used to practice in the backyard. For an hour they trained, working on Stiles’ learning how to pull back on his new abilities on the lacrosse field so no one got suspicious when he exhibited lacrosse skills heretofore unseen in the world of Stiles Stilinski, who often had trouble just walking a straight line.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather play baseball?” Derek said. “Less chance that you’ll lose control on the field and everyone sees you change. And then tries to kill you. And me.”

As much as Derek claimed that lacrosse wasn’t his game, it was frustrating how good he was at it with his natural werewolf-y talents. And frustrating that, instead of honing his own, Stiles had to hide them. Oh, how he’d love to see Jackson’s face when Stiles made first line.

Before he left that afternoon Stiles asked Derek why he looked like he’d been up all night. Again. “Not that you’re not still exceedingly hot,” Stiles added at Derek’s look.

“I wanted to check the victims’ bodies,” Derek said.

That sounded really gross to Stiles. “Gross. And why? I mean, we had the pictures.” Which had been bad enough, as far as Stiles was concerned.

“It’s not the same as seeing for yourself,” Derek said.

Stiles gave a full body shudder, but gamely asked, “Did you find anything?”

“I thought . . . .” Derek shook his head. “But no. They’d hosed the bodies down and removed all the trace evidence, there wasn’t much left to see or smell.”

“Smell?” Stiles repeated.

Derek gave Stiles a look that said, why are you still here? Stiles turned to leave, then had a thought.

“Wait, didn’t the coroner release the bodies?”

“Yes.”

“So you . . . .”

“Dug them up, yes.”

“Which would explain why you look so tired. And also, this just keeps getting grosser and grosser. You dug up a dead body?”

“Two,” Derek said, seemingly enjoying Stiles’ reaction. “The formaldehyde made it difficult to smell anything pertinent, as well.”

Stiles gagged. And not even all in jest. He admonished, “You desecrated a grave. Two graves.”

“I reburied them.”

“Not really the point,” Stiles said.

“Do you get this upset when Sam and Dean dig up a body to burn the bones?”

Stiles’ mouth opened to deny any knowledge of this Sam and Dean of whom Derek spoke, but Derek went on, “I was in your room. I saw the posters,” before walking away and leaving Stiles standing there.

“Post _er_ ,” Stiles said. “Singular.”

As the last word it wasn’t much.

~*~*~*~

Stiles made cheeseburgers and macaroni salad for dinner. His dad’s day had been quiet, but that all changed with a phone call just as he was sitting down to watch the news. Stiles knew something was up from the way his father snapped to attention and got all Sheriff-like.

“Is everything alright?” Stiles asked as his dad strapped on his gun and reached for his hat. Stiles worried about his dad everyday, but then there were times (like this) when he worried just a little bit more.

“I don’t know yet,” his dad said. “Stay inside tonight.”

“Be careful,” Stiles said.

“I will. Lock the door.”

As soon as his dad left Stiles turned up the volume on the scanner and sat at the kitchen table to listen to it. He wasn’t being nosy, Stiles assured himself. He was just concerned for his dad. Stiles didn’t have to wait long to hear what had taken his father back out – some hikers had reported seeing a body in the woods. Stiles couldn’t lie, his first thought was, please let it be someone else, don’t let it be Laura. But then he heard something he hadn’t wanted to hear. Or think about. Ever. The body had been cut in half.

Laura had warned Stiles about hunters, people who killed their kind. The kind that he was now, a werewolf. She’d told him that they did that to werewolves, cut the bodies in half to make sure they didn’t come back. But another werewolf would also know to do that, especially if he (or she) wanted it to appear that a hunter had made the kill. Stiles sat frozen, unable to move now that his worst fear seemed to be coming true. And then he thought, I have to tell Derek.

Stiles didn’t even think about his promise to stay inside. He grabbed his father’s backup radio on his way out of the house so he could keep track of the search that was being organized. Late on a Sunday there was little traffic, but it still felt like the drive out of town took forever. Stiles sped up once he passed outside the city limits and almost missed the turn off to the old Hale house because he was paying more attention to the radio than the road.

Stiles had barely brought Betty to a stop before he was spilling out of her and running towards the house, radio clutched in his hand. Derek was there, appearing almost out of thin air and striding across the porch, completely wolfed out.

“What’s wrong?” Derek growled, reaching for Stiles and pulling him behind him as he extended his senses over the area around them.

“Nothing,” Stiles said. “I mean, not nothing, but no danger. I don’t think. Just . . . there’s another body. In the woods.”

“Another murder?” Derek said.

“I don’t know,” Stiles said breathlessly. “I mean, I’m not sure. Some hikers found the body and now my dad’s out there looking for her. It.” Stiles held up the radio.

Derek dialed it back a notch and let the wolf recede. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Stiles squeezed the radio until he felt the plastic give. “The body. It was cut in half.”

Derek’s face went blank.

“It could still be someone else,” Stiles said. He didn’t want to think of the pain he was wishing on someone else so he didn’t have to face the loss of another person from his life. “Maybe it’s not Laura. It could even be the other werewolf,” Stiles went on, grasping at straws.

Derek wasn’t paying attention to Stiles. His gaze had turned towards the woods. Stiles could tell that he was listening to the sounds of the night, scenting the air. Derek took a step forward and Stiles reached out to stop him.

“What are you doing?”

“I need to find her.”

“You can’t go out there,” Stiles said.

Derek ignored Stiles’ comment and pulled out of his hold.

“There’s a search party out there,” Stiles said. “With dogs.”

Derek kept walking.

“How are you going to explain your presence in the woods to the cops?” Stiles called after Derek. When there was no response Stiles ran after him and grabbed Derek’s arm. “Derek!”

Derek shrugged Stiles off as if he was nothing more than a gnat, but Stiles came back. The next swat hit him in the face, knocking Stiles back a step. Stiles probed his lip with his tongue and tasted blood. Stiles watched Derek walk away from him and considered just letting him go. He sighed. It was a flaw, one that he hoped didn’t prove fatal, but Stiles couldn’t just turn his back on someone that needed his help. Even if they weren’t quite friends.

Stiles licked the blood off his already healed lip and headed after Derek. Once he entered the woods there was no sign of Derek’s passing, no sound to give him away. Stiles didn’t bother calling out, knowing that Derek wouldn’t respond. Stiles rolled his eyes and raised his nose to the sky, scented the air.

Stiles jogged through the woods, following Derek’s scent trail. The irony was, before this whole werewolf thing had happened to him, and if he wasn’t scared completely out of his mind that the body belonged to someone he knew and cared about, Stiles would have been all over grabbing Scott and dragging him into the woods to search for the body.

Stiles knew there was no way he’d be able to catch up to Derek (unless Derek stopped and waited for him, which was so not going to happen), but he kept moving despite the seeming futility of it. Stiles was startled when he suddenly heard Derek’s heartbeat. That’s what he was blaming for the fact that he tripped over something he still couldn’t see even after he’d tripped over it (though he’d probably have tripped over it anyway).

Stiles slowed and made sure that the sound of the heartbeat and Derek’s scent that he’d been following right along led in the same direction, and then slowly, and more carefully followed it. Derek had to have stopped for a reason, and Stiles really didn’t want to trip over him and a dead body, especially if it was Laura’s.

Or he could have been caught. Stiles stopped and concentrated. The search seemed to be taking place further off. He could hear the deputies calling out to each other and the dogs barking. Stiles took the chance and called out Derek’s name in a loud whisper. “Derek!” he tried again when there was no answer to the first.

“Stiles?”

Stiles whirled around and slipped on the leaves, just catching himself before face planting on the ground. “Dad! What are you doing here? I mean, uh . . . “

“I think the real question is, what are you doing out here?” Stiles’ dad said with a meaningful glance at the radio Stiles still clutched.

Stiles crossed his arms in a poor attempt at hiding the radio. “Going for a walk?”

“I distinctly remember telling you to stay inside.”

“Exercise, fresh air . . . .”

Stiles knew Derek was out there, and he could practically _hear_ him rolling his eyes.

“Are you out here alone?”

Stiles wondered for a second if his father could read his mind. “Uh, what?”

“Is Scott with you?”

“Oh, no! Scott’s not here. You can call his mom and verify, if you want.”

“Let’s go,” his dad said.

“Oh, but . . . .” Stiles pointed somewhere behind him, in what he thought was the general direction of the Hale house. “My Jeep.”

“This way,” his dad insisted. “With me.” Stiles’ dad grabbed a handful of his hoodie and tugged to emphasize his point.

“Yeah, okay, I guess I can get the Jeep later,” Stiles said as he followed his father. “So, um, did you find anything?” he asked, not sure whether he wanted the answer to be yes or no.

“You should know,” his dad said just before he snatched the pilfered radio out of Stiles’ hand.

Just then the radio crackled and a voice that sounded more tired than exultant at their success said, “We’ve found something.”

Stiles didn’t get to see or hear what they’d found because his dad turned him over to one of his deputies to be driven home and babysat. Doug Sanders was usually pretty tolerant of Stiles’ madcap misadventures, but tonight he just gave Stiles a disappointed shake of his head.

“Something awful happened to this person,” Deputy Sanders said on the drive home. “They were someone’s relative, someone’s friend. It’s no joking matter.”

“I know,” Stiles said as he slid down further in his seat.

~*~

Stiles did not sleep well that night. When he wasn’t worrying that the body would turn out to be Laura’s, he was worrying about what had happened to Derek after his dad dragged him away. From the look on his father’s face when Stiles trudged into the kitchen the next morning he should’ve spent more time worrying about himself.

“I want you to come home right after school,” Stiles’ dad said, skipping the whole ‘I’m so disappointed in you’ speech.

“After lacrosse practice, you mean?” Stiles said hopefully, a gentle reminder that practice started that afternoon, and not even trying to talk his father out of the punishment.

His father hesitated and for a second Stiles thought he might actually tell him he couldn’t try out for lacrosse this year, but then he sighed and said, “Alright, but right after practice.”

“Okay,” Stiles agreed gratefully.

And Stiles totally meant to, but there was a new student in school that day. Which was strange enough because Stiles had always thought that Beacon Hills was the kind of place people moved _out_ of, not to. But even more importantly, her name was Argent. Allison Argent. Stiles had felt a chill, as if an icy breeze had blown across the back of his neck, when the Vice Principal introduced her to the class.

When Laura had explained that there were people out there that would now want to kill him just for being what he was, she’d also mentioned the name Argent. The Argent family had hunted werewolves for generations and, more specifically, she believed that Kate Argent had been responsible for the fire six years ago that had killed most of her family. Stiles did not think it was a coincidence that the Argents were back in town just when an unknown werewolf was killing people.

Allison was cute, and she seemed nice enough (and it was clear that Scott was smitten with her), but Stiles remembered the story Laura had told him, about how Kate had wormed her way into the Hale family’s trust and then betrayed them all. Stiles couldn’t leave school in the middle of the day, but he also couldn’t stop thinking that he had to warn Derek.

Stiles was so distracted during lacrosse practice later that afternoon that he didn’t even have to worry about camouflaging his new abilities. He missed catches, swung wildly, and tripped over his own feet running down the field. Stiles couldn’t even get worked up about Jackson shoving him to the ground and smirking down at him. Sure, the wolf made a half-hearted attempt to surface and slap the smirk right off Jackson’s face, but Stiles’ concern for Derek held it at bay.

Right after practice Stiles raced to the parking lot, only remembering that he didn’t have his Jeep when he burst out of the front doors. His dad had driven him to school that morning because Betty was still parked in Derek’s driveway. Except she wasn’t. Stiles stood at the top of the steps and stared at his Jeep, which was parked innocently in the student lot, and then his feet began to move. The Jeep smelled like Derek, which only made Stiles more desperate to see him and make sure nothing had happened to him.

Stiles drove the same route he’d taken last night. He had to be more careful than he’d been the night before because there were more people on the streets, driving home from work, last minute grocery shopping, hitting the gym, while Stiles was freaking out about the hunters that had apparently moved back to Beacon Hills. Also, he couldn’t afford to be pulled over by one of his father’s deputies. Or, god forbid, his dad himself. The Hale house was so not on his way home from school, and Stiles’ brain was too frantically stewing over the fact that there were people out there who might actually want to _kill him_ to think up a lie, even a totally unbelievable one.

Finally Stiles reached the safety of Hale land. Some of the tension eased out of his shoulders, and he loosened the death grip he had on the steering wheel. He couldn’t relax completely, though, not until he’d seen Derek and assured himself that he was alright. Stiles barely took time to turn off the engine before he jumped out of Betty and ran for the house. Stiles leapt the stairs (all of them) and crossed the porch in two steps. He pushed the door open without knocking and burst into the foyer.

Stiles stopped and listened, trying to sense Derek. Nothing. The house felt empty, but Stiles checked anyway, going into every room. He had one foot on the bottom step, ready to head upstairs and continue his search (despite how unsafe it looked) when Derek came into the house from the back . . . Stiles hesitated to call it a door. Entrance, maybe. Derek carried a bucket which still held a few inches of water in spite of the fact that he’d apparently run back to the house all the way from the creek where he’d been washing up if the wet hair and damp t-shirt were any indication.

Derek was breathing heavily, something Stiles had never seen before, and he just stared at Stiles for a moment before speaking. “You’re not bleeding,” Derek said, sounding unhappy about that. “Or dying.”

“No?”

“Why are you upset?” Derek growled.

“Oh! I was just, um, worried about you?”

“About me? Why?”

“Are you okay? Nothing . . . weird . . . happened today, did it?”

An expression Stiles couldn’t decipher, not quite guilt, but almost, crossed Derek’s face. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“Can I just . . . ?” Stiles didn’t wait for an answer. He stepped forward, deep into Derek’s personal space. Ignoring Derek’s frown Stiles reached out and touched him. Ran his hands over Derek’s shoulders, down his arms. Felt Derek warm and solid and _alive_ beneath his touch. He grabbed handfuls of Derek’s t-shirt and shook him, which barely made Derek rock back on his heels. Stiles pressed his ear against Derek’s chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart. It was calming.

“Stiles?”

Stiles turned his face into Derek’s chest and breathed him in.

“Uhm . . . .”

“Shut up.”

Stiles did not want to hear how ridiculous this was, this need he had to assure himself that his pac–, that Derek was alright. Oddly enough, Derek complied.

Stiles dragged his nose across Derek’s chest, up to his neck, down to his armpit, inhaling him, and Derek remained silent as Stiles soothed his wolf with Derek’s scent. Derek brought up the hand not still clinging to the bucket handle and awkwardly patted Stiles on the shoulder. Stiles couldn’t stop himself from pushing into the touch.

“You need to stop coming out here in a panic,” Derek finally said. “The wolf gets a little agitated when you do that.”

Stiles gave a humorless laugh. “I’ll see what I can do about that,” he said against Derek’s t-shirt, tasting cotton and Derek.

“You ready to tell me what’s wrong so I can go tear its head off?” Derek growled, but Stiles knew it wasn’t directed at him this time.

“Yes,” Stiles said, but he didn’t let go of Derek.

“Come on.” Derek set the bucket down and disengaged them. “Let’s go sit down.”

“You don’t have anyplace to sit down,” Stiles said, and it suddenly seemed the most important thing ever. “That’s why you can’t stay out here! There’s no place to _sit_!”

Once the outburst was over Stiles calmed down.

“Are you done freaking out?”

“Probably not.”

Derek steered him out to the porch and pushed him down onto the steps.

“You need a chair out here,” Stiles said. “One with a cushion.”

“Is that what you rushed out here to tell me?”

“I didn’t rush,” Stiles said. “And chairs are important. They say, welcome, sit a while.”

Derek raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, ha! Lack of proper seating isn’t gonna get rid of me.”

“Worth a try,” Derek said. “So . . . .”

“Will you tell me what happened last night?” Stiles said, stalling for time.

“Yes. Later. Spill.”

Stiles swallowed hard. “Hunters. Laura told me about . . . that we have to be careful. She also explained what happened to your family.”

Derek’s expression went hard.

“I’m sorry, I’m not bringing this up to hurt you.”

Derek’s eyes flickered to Stiles.

“There was a new girl in school today. Her name is Allison. Allison Argent. I’ve been _freaking out all day_ ,” Stiles said, hoping to forestall a Derek shaped freak out, or worse, Derek withdrawing into himself like his dad did sometimes when he was thinking about Stiles’ mom.

“I wanted to come out here and check on you, er, I mean, tell you,” Stiles amended at Derek’s expression, “right away, but if I skipped any classes they’d have called my dad, and I’m already in enough trouble from last night, I do not want to know what he would do if he found out I . . . .”

“Stiles. Concentrate.”

Stiles nodded. “Okay.”

“What did you find out about the girl?”

“I know where she lives,” Stiles offered.

“Please tell me you didn’t try to follow her home,” Derek said sharply.

“No!” Stiles said. “I asked her.”

“She wasn’t suspicious?”

“It was a pretty unremarkable question given all the ‘why did your parents move to Beacon Hills’ type questions she was getting all day.”

“Where?” Derek said.

Stiles told him and Derek nodded.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’‘m going to check it out.”

“Carefully, right? You won’t get caught?”

Derek glared at him.

“Say it,” Stiles insisted.

“I’ll be careful.”

“Thank you.”

Stiles picked at his nails before asking the question that had been haunting him. “Are they here for us?”

“They’re probably here because of the murders,” Derek said. “But that doesn’t mean you want them finding out about you.”

Stiles shook his head, because no, he didn’t want that. “Do you think they killed . . . do you think they’re responsible for the body last night?”

“When did they get here?”

“They moved in over the weekend.”

Derek nodded. “I guess it depends on when the . . . person was killed.”

Stiles noted that Derek had a tough time saying those words.

“Stay away from the girl,” Derek said.

“I can’t,” Stiles said, stopping when Derek growled at him. “Oh, trust me, I would if I could, but Scott has a crush on her, and apparently she’s taken a liking to his stupid face, too, so it would look odd if I tried to avoid her.”

Derek snarled as if he didn’t like that. Well, Stiles didn’t like it, either, but, aside from suddenly deciding to be home schooled, there wasn’t much he could do about it.

“Be careful then,” Derek said gruffly.

“Wow,” Stiles said. “Are you worried about me?”

“No.”

“You are. I don’t know whether to be flattered or scared. Actually, you being worried about me means it must be pretty bad, so I’m gonna go with scared.”

“I’m not worried. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“Ah, now the flattery,” Stiles said.

Derek looked at Stiles like he wanted to pound him through the floor. And things were back to normal again.

“So, listen, I have to get home. Actually, I’m supposed to be there now,” Stiles said. “I think I might be grounded. Because of last night. You’ll let me know what happens tonight?”

Derek nodded.

“Okay, um . . . . I know I already said it, but be careful.”

“You, too.”

~*~

Stiles tried not to think about hunters or dead bodies as he drove back to his house. Being turned into a werewolf had turned his life upside down and he had just been getting a handle on it, murders and rogue werewolves aside. And then Laura had disappeared, and now the Argents, a family of werewolf hunters had returned to town. Stiles’ life had gotten very complicated.

And it looked like it was going to get even more complicated because his dad’s cruiser, with Beacon County Sheriff emblazoned on the side, sat in the driveway. “Shit,” Stiles groaned, and banged his head against the steering wheel.

Stiles got out of the Jeep and went inside to face the music. He wished he could say he was growing a pair, but he just knew it would hurt less if he tore it off quickly.

“I can explain,” Stiles said when he found his dad in the kitchen.

“Sit down,” his dad said, indicating the chair across from him.

Stiles sat. “I’m sorry, I know I said that I’d . . . .”

His father opened the folder that lay in front of him on the table. He removed a photo and slid it across the table. Stiles looked down and wished he hadn’t. It wasn’t gruesome, but Stiles would’ve preferred something gory so he had an excuse to look away. A reason for the way his throat closed up and he had trouble breathing.

“You recognize it,” his father said. It wasn’t a question.

Stiles pushed the photo away from him with trembling fingers, as if he could unsee it. Tears burned at the back of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

“Stiles,” his dad said. He sounded sad, tired.

“Laura has been missing,” Stiles said, feeling a huge relief at finally speaking the words to his father.

“Since when?”

“Wednesday,” Stiles said.

“Jesus . . . .” his father swore. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You would have just thought I was overreacting. There was nothing you could have done, anyway,” Stiles said, sounding defeated. “I know the missing person rules. She’s an adult. There was no sign of foul play.”

His dad ran a hand over his hair. “These last few days when I though you were with Laura, where have you been?”

Stiles glanced at the photo of the tattoo that Laura had gotten just above her ankle in memory of the family she’d lost. A reminder that now she’d joined them.

“I was with Derek,” Stiles said. “Laura’s brother, Derek Hale.”

TBC in Episode Two -- Coming soon-ish!

 

IRL Gus was my mother’s cousin’s husband. He really did have an awesome potato recipe that is a ~huge hit in our house. He died many years ago, and some days I still think about him and miss him. I wonder if he’d be horrified being referenced in a slash fanfic. Or if he’d have shrugged and gone with it. Gus was a pretty amazing fellow.

Gus’s Potatoes

8 cut, raw potatoes (wedges or diced)  
½ cup oil  
1 tbs grated cheese  
1/4 tsp garlic powder  
1/4 tsp onion salt  
½ tsp paprika  
1 tsp salt  
1/4 tsp pepper

Place potatoes peeled side down in greased pan and drizzle oil mixture over them. Bake covered at 375 degrees for 45 minutes (and uncovered for 15 minutes more if you like your potatoes crispier, as I do).


	2. Episode Two: steel to my tremblin’ lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The body is identified; Derek channels Yoda, and Derek and Stiles continue to try and solve the murders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written: August 25, 2012

Stiles sat blinking back tears while his dad bustled about the kitchen. He set a box of tissues on the table within Stiles’ reach and slid a glass of water in front of him. His dad pulled out the chair next to Stiles and sat stiffly beside him. He reached out and awkwardly patted Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles choked back a sob at the contact. “You probably think I’m being ridiculous. Getting so upset over someone I barely know.” It hurt to speak those words in relation to Laura, about his Alpha, but that’s how it must seem to his father.

“No, Stiles,” his dad said gently. “I don’t think that at all. Laura seemed like a nice person, and I know you spent a lot of time together, getting to know her.”

There was a pregnant pause before his dad continued. “There wasn’t anything else going on between the two of you, was there?”

Stiles immediately thought about the bite and the murders they’d secretly been looking into. He tried to keep the guilt over lying to his dad about both from showing on his face. “What do you mean?” he said, the question coming out more breathless than he’d intended.

“I just meant,” his dad said slowly, as if the words were being dragged out of him. “Laura was a pretty girl, and you, well, you’re sixteen, and contrary to popular opinion in this house, I do remember what it was like to be your age and . . . .”

Stiles was shocked out of his grief by the realization of what his father was getting at. “Dad! There was noth—! Are you asking me if Laura and I were having _sex_?” His voice squeaked on the word.

“It seemed like a reasonable deduction given your . . . .”

“No!” Stiles said. “No, we’re not . . . why would you even think . . . ?”

His dad held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I just wanted to better understand your relationship with her. You’re clearly upset and . . . .”

“Because she was my _friend_ ,” Stiles said, his voice cracking on the word. “I mean, she was my tutor, but I think we were becoming friends, pretty good friends, maybe . . . .”

Stiles had to stop talking. It was difficult for him to find the words to explain what Laura was to him without saying Alpha, mentor, _everything_ , which certainly would have freaked his dad out. He didn’t want to minimize what Laura had been to him, was still, but he had to put their relationship into terms his dad would understand, even if they felt inadequate. “We were friends,” Stiles said again.

“Okay,” his dad said. “Listen, I’m sorry, I know you’re upset right now, but I need to ask you some questions.”

Stiles nodded and sniffled. He snatched a tissue from the box his dad had thoughtfully brought to the table for him and blew his nose. “Alright, I’m ready.”

“I’ll need to take some notes,” his dad said as he stood and pushed the chair in. He walked around the table and seated himself back across from Stiles.

Stiles glanced at the folder, glad that his dad had already slid the photo back inside so he didn’t have to look at it again. His dad got out his notebook and clicked his pen.

“Are you ready, son?”

Stiles nodded.

“Okay, then. When was the last time you saw Laura?”

“Last Tuesday,” Stiles said. “And she seemed fine,” Stiles went on, anticipating the next question. She hadn’t told him that she’d found a lead. Hadn’t said anything to raise any red flags, even in hindsight. “Everything seemed . . . fine.”

“When did you first suspect that she was missing?”

“Thursday,” Stiles said. “I wasn’t too worried when she didn’t show up on Wednesday, but I knew she wouldn’t miss two days without calling me, if she was able to. She wasn’t like that.”

Stiles told his dad about sending the texts, and then calling her and leaving a message on her voice mail. Told him about going to look for her on Thursday, checking the motel, and then going out to the Hale house. “And that’s when I met Derek.” Which was the understatement of the year.

“Back up a minute,” his dad said. “How did you know she wasn’t at the motel?”

“Her car wasn’t there, and she didn’t answer the door. And I might have found a sliver of window not covered by the curtain and peeked into the room?”

A lie, but Stiles couldn’t tell his dad that he hadn’t heard Laura’s heartbeat, hadn’t smelled her scent, hadn’t _felt_ her. His dad shook his head but didn’t say anything about Stiles’ burgeoning Peeping Tom tendencies.

“Okay. What was Derek Hale doing in Beacon Hills, do you know?”

“Ah.” The change of subject threw Stiles for a second. “Looking for Laura, I guess.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“Not in those words, but he asked me where she was, so I assumed . . . .”

“Alright. What happened next?”

“Uh . . . ,” Stiles said. “I told Derek that I didn’t know where Laura was, that I was looking for her, too. And then I might have told him where Laura was staying.”

“And?”

Stiles fidgeted. “And we went over there.”

“To the motel.”

“Yes.”

“Where you broke into her room.” It wasn’t a question.

“Can we skip over the part about how we gained entrance?”

“Sure,” his dad said easily, which made Stiles squirm. “So, after you mysteriously gained entrance you searched the room and removed Laura’s personal effects from the premises.”

Stiles gaped at his father’s seeming prescience.

“No, Stiles, I have not gained the ability to read your mind. Thank goodness. The motel filed a report about the break in.”

“Oh.” Stiles hadn’t thought about that.

His dad pinched the bridge of his nose. “What happened next?”

“Derek found the rental car receipt in her bag and called the company,” Stiles said.

“What did they say?”

“The car was sitting in the lot Thursday morning when they opened.”

His dad sighed. “I’m sure they’ve already detailed the car by now, so there won’t be any fingerprints, but we’ll send someone over there anyway.”

Stiles wanted to feel bad about that, but he knew that the Beacon County Sheriff’s Department wasn’t equipped to go up against a werewolf, which Laura had seemed pretty certain that this was. If she was right, there would be no arrest, no trial, no prison time. As Alpha, Laura would be–, would have been judge, jury and executioner. “I’m sorry,” Stiles said anyway. And he was, at least for making his dad’s life more difficult.

His dad sighed. “I know, son.” He looked over his notes. “Okay, so Laura didn’t show up on Wednesday and you went looking for her when she didn’t show up again on Thursday,” he recapped.

Stiles nodded.

“What about since then? Specifically Saturday, when you told me you were going to meet Laura?” his dad asked.

“I didn’t actually say . . . ,” Stiles began, and then trailed off at his father’s look. “I wouldn’t have minded if she’d shown up like she was supposed to.”

“Where were you?”

“With Derek,” Stiles said.

“Derek Hale,” his dad said, as if they’d been talking about another Derek.

“Yeah, Derek Hale, Laura’s brother.”

“Why?”

“To talk, I guess,” Stiles said, trying to make his meetings with Derek appear innocent. No way did he want his father finding out that he’d stuck his nose into open murder investigations, and there was really no explaining the werewolf thing. “I mean, he was the only other person that knew Laura was missing, and who was as worried about her as I was.”

“You could have told me, Stiles,” his dad said quietly.

“I know,” Stiles said. “And I should have. Even if you couldn’t have done anything in an official capacity, I should’ve talked to you about it. Acting like nothing was wrong was . . . . I know it might not seem it, but keeping things from you isn’t as easy as I make it look.”

His dad raised an eyebrow and gave Stiles an almost-smile. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said dryly. He went on, still in a fatherly (rather than Sheriff-ly) tone, “So you and Derek bonded over this situation with Laura?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it _that_ ,” Stiles said, trying not to think about the comfort he took in Derek’s presence. “But yeah, sort of, I guess. It felt like we were the only people that knew her, or cared that she was missing. I know that’s not true,” he added quickly at his dad’s expression. “But it felt that way.”

“What did you two talk about?”

“Laura, mostly. Although, it’s kind of funny. Derek’s not really much of a talker.”

“I’m sure you talked enough for both of you,” his dad inserted, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Oh, ha!” Stiles said, then went on seriously. “Sometimes it wasn’t about what we said as much as just being there for each other, you know?”

“Taking comfort,” his dad said, nodding as if he understood.

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, hoping his dad didn’t get any ideas about what kind of comfort Stiles took in Derek. He wasn’t sure his dad would understand the (completely innocent) touching and sniffing. Especially when Stiles didn’t know what to think about it himself.

Stiles knew that talking (or not-talking) and bonding over Laura wouldn’t satisfactorily account for all the time he’d spent with Derek, even if his dad didn’t know about it yet. To head things off at the pass Stiles said, “And he offered to help me get ready for lacrosse practice, which, um, started today.”

However reluctant that offer was. “So we’ve been doing some training, too. I think Derek is happier when he can throw m–, things through the air than when he has to talk.”

“I saw that you had both of the lacrosse sticks out,” his dad said.

“Yeah, Derek doesn’t have one, so . . . .” Stiles trailed off as they were both reminded of his mom and how she’d practiced with him in the backyard before she’d gotten sick.

“Does it ever bother you,” his dad said, speaking slowly. “That I don’t . . . . I mean, that was you and your mom’s thing and I didn’t . . . . Maybe I should have done that for you after . . . .”

“No, Dad,” Stiles said. “It’s fine. I understand. Besides, Mom told me once that you kinda sucked at lacrosse.”

His dad gave him a sheepish smile. “Well, yeah, your mother was better at it than I was, that’s for sure, but I could always give it the old college try.”

Stiles smiled. It was nice to talk about his mom without tears (him) and whiskey (his dad) being involved. “Maybe on your next day off,” Stiles said. “You never know, maybe I could teach _you_ something.”

His dad huffed a laugh, and then gave Stiles a look of partial agreement. “Maybe you could, at that.” He let out a breath and straightened his shoulders. “We should probably finish up here so you can get something to eat and get your homework done.” He looked at his hands like he didn’t know where to go next, or didn’t like where he had to go. “So last night. Wanna tell me what you were doing out there?”

“I, um, I listened to the scanner after you left, and when I heard about the body I kind of freaked. So I went out to tell Derek.”

“And then you decided to go looking for the body yourself?” his dad said incredulously.

“Something like that,” Stiles said.

“Was Derek with you?”

“No,” Stiles said, glad that he didn’t have to tell a complete lie. “Derek wasn’t with me. And I never saw him in the woods.”

“But you did see him, to tell him about the body that had been reported?”

“Yes,” Stiles said, swallowing hard. Talking about the body was difficult now that he knew it was Laura’s.

“What did he do when you told him?”

“His face,” Stiles said. He remembered how Derek had acted as if Stiles wasn’t even there. “He got all closed off and he walked away from me. I think we both knew it was Laura even though we didn’t want it to be.”

“And you decided to go off on your own,” his dad said, not really asking.

Stiles shrugged.

His father heaved a sigh. “Okay. Where were you after school today, instead of home where you were supposed to be?” He held up a hand before Stiles could answer. “Let me guess, you went to see Derek.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

It felt to Stiles as if his heart seized up when he remembered Allison and the Argents. Hunters. “I just, I needed to check on him, make sure he was alright. After last night . . . .”

“That was nice of you,” his dad said. “If ill-advised.” He was silent for a moment, then said, “I’m going to have to talk to Derek, as well. Do you know how I can get a hold of him?”

“Ah, yeah,” Stiles said. “I don’t have a phone number, but he’s staying out at the old Hale house.”

His dad frowned. “Has it been restored?”

“That would be a no,” Stiles said. There was another moment of silence while his dad digested that. “Yeah. It’s kind of creepy, I know, but Derek has issues, so . . . .”

The front doorbell rang before Stiles could finish his thought. It sounded angry. Stiles had never thought that the ring of a doorbell could sound angry, but now he knew differently.

“I’ll be right back,” his dad said as he pushed his chair back. “You, don’t go anywhere.”

Stiles shook his head and gave his dad a ‘who, me?’ look. Out of habit Stiles leaned towards the kitchen doorway to eavesdrop on whoever was at the door even though he could have heard what they were saying from his bedroom without straining himself. The difficult thing, he’d learned, was pulling back so he didn’t hear absolutely everything until it all became white noise that overwhelmed his brain. Plus, there were some things you just didn’t want to know about your neighbors.

Stiles flailed and nearly fell out of his chair when he heard Derek say, “Good evening, Sheriff Stilinski. Is Stiles available?”

Shit. Shit! Why hadn’t he noticed Derek’s approach? He should have recognized his heartbeat, or his scent, or _something_! Instead he’d been able to sneak up on Stiles and, oh my god, probably overhear everything he’d just said. What _had_ he just said? Something about Derek having issues. He was so dead.

While Stiles had been freaking out his dad had invited Derek in and brought him to the kitchen. Stiles stood up quickly and knocked over his chair. He picked it up and pinched his finger when he shoved the chair too far under the table. “Ow!” Stiles stuck his finger into his mouth and sucked on it.

“Stiles, Derek’s here to see you,” his dad said.

“Derek, hi,” Stiles said around his finger. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight. Again.”

“I hope I’m not intruding,” Derek said. He sounded polite, but his eyes bored a hole in the middle of Stiles’ forehead.

Yep, Derek had heard Stiles tell his dad that Derek had issues. Now Stiles had a very big issue of his own, which was to keep Derek from wanting to throw him around some more.

“Not at all,” Stiles’ dad said. “In fact, I’m glad you stopped by. I need to talk to you.”

Derek turned his gaze onto Stiles’ dad. “Is this about the body those hikers found in the woods,” he asked, his voice even.

“It is,” Stiles’ dad said. “I’m sorry to have to tell you that we believe the body might belong to your sister Laura.”

Stiles watched Derek’s face. His jaw clenched a little bit, but otherwise there was no reaction.

“You don’t seem terribly surprised,” Stiles’ dad said.

“I’m not,” Derek said. When it looked like his one word answers and grunts weren’t going to be enough for the Sheriff, he continued. “With Laura missing, and then . . . . I’ve been expecting the worst since Stiles told me about the body. It seemed safer that way.”

Stiles’ dad nodded his understanding. “I’d like to show you a photograph, if I may.”

Derek nodded his assent. Stiles’ dad withdrew the picture of the tattoo from the folder. Stiles kept his gaze trained on Derek’s face so he didn’t have to see the picture again. If he hadn’t been concentrating so intently on Derek Stiles might’ve missed the flash of grief that passed over his features.

“Do you recognize this?”

“Yes,” Derek said. After the briefest pause, he continued. “That’s the tattoo Laura had above her ankle.”

Stiles listened as his dad slid the photograph back into the folder.

“I’m sorry,” his dad said.

Derek nodded, just a sharp jerk of his head, to acknowledge the sentiment.

“I understand that you have Laura’s personal effects from the motel,” Stiles’ dad said.

“I do,” Derek admitted.

“We’ll need something, a hairbrush if she had one, to make a positive ID.”

Because they only had half of the body, Stiles knew, and identifying the tattoo wasn’t enough to make a positive ID.

Derek swallowed hard and nodded. “I’ll make sure you get it, Sheriff.”

“Thank you.” Stiles’ dad sighed. “I know that no time is really good for this, but I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Of course,” Derek said. “Now’s as good a time as any for it.”

“Please have a seat. I hope you don’t mind the informality of our kitchen for this.”

“I prefer it to the station, actually. I don’t have fond memories of that place,” Derek said wryly as he pulled out the chair Stiles had been sitting in.

“Understood.”

After a moment of silence Stiles realized that his dad was staring at him. Stiles dragged his gaze away from the back of Derek’s head where Derek’s hair appeared to be accusing him of something. “What?”

“I realize that the two of you are friends . . . .”

Stiles didn’t miss the way Derek’s shoulders went stiff at that.

“. . . but this is official Sheriff department business. For which we need privacy. Leave, Stiles.”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course,” Stiles said as he backed out of the kitchen. “I’ll just be . . . .” He pointed his thumb upward to indicate his room upstairs.

Stiles actually did go to his room. With his newly enhanced sense of hearing he didn’t need to lurk outside the kitchen to ‘accidentally’ overhear what they were saying. And with his speed he got there before he missed too much. (And only tripped once.) Stiles left his door open to aide his hearing and sat on the end of his bed, leaning forward as if that would also help.

“–iate your cooperation, Derek. I know this is a difficult time for you,” his dad said.

“I just . . . want to find the person who’s responsible for this,” Derek said.

“We will,” Stiles dad assured Derek. Except Stiles knew that he never would. He couldn’t, not if Derek wanted to keep the whole werewolf thing under wraps, which he totally did.

“Thank you,” Derek said stiffly, sounding more like he was having splinters stuck under his nails than that someone had promised to find the person that had killed his sister.

“Do you know why Laura was here in Beacon Hills?”

“No,” Derek said. “I didn’t even know she’d come back until she called me.”

“When did she call you?”

“Monday,” Derek said.

“What did she want?”

“She asked me to come out for a visit,” Derek said.

“And you did.”

“Yes. I left as soon as I could.”

“When did you arrive?”

“Thursday.”

“Did you talk to Laura after that phone call on Monday?”

“Yes. To let her know I was on my way.”

“You didn’t hear from her after that?”

“No, Sir.”

“Why did you drop everything to drive all the way out here?”

Stiles shifted forward on the bed, eager to hear the answer himself.

“She’s my sister,” Derek said.

Only Stiles heard the slight hesitation before Derek said ‘sister’. He probably would have come back to Beacon Hills for his sister, but he’d definitely come when requested to by his Alpha.

“She’s the only family I have left,” Derek added.

“Why did she want you to come here?”

“She said she was thinking of staying in Beacon Hills. Of rebuilding. She wanted me to come back for a visit to see if I was okay to stay here. With everything that happened before.”

“Is this the first time either of you have come back since the fire?” Stiles’ dad asked gently.

“Yes.”

Stiles could picture his dad’s face, an expression of sympathy and understanding. “I said once before, but you were young and hurting so I’m not sure if you even heard me, or cared, but I’m sorry for what happened to your family.”

Stiles could imagine the hard lines of Derek’s face giving nothing away, but Stiles heard the blip in his heartbeat before it settled back to its regular, steady beat.

“Thank you,” Derek said stiffly.

“Do you know why Laura wanted to return?” Stiles’ dad said, returning to the questioning.

“She didn’t go into specifics on the phone, but . . . . Hales have lived in Beacon Hills for generations. Laura used to talk about reclaiming our family’s heritage.”

“When you spoke, did she mention anyone she was having problems with? Anything strange going on?”

“No, nothing,” Derek said.

“Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt Laura?”

“No,” Derek said, the word clipped and sharp. “No one.”

“Alright, well, if you think of anything, please call me.”

“I will.”

“And if you could get us that hairbrush.”

“Of course. I’ll do that immediately.”

“Okay, thank you. I appreciate you taking the time to answer my questions.” After a moment of silence, Stiles’ dad went on. “Well, I need to get back to the station, so I’ll walk you out.”

Stiles listened as his dad gathered up the file and his coat and hat and left the house with Derek. He heard two cars start up and drive off. Once the house was silent Stiles’ brain started whirring. Why had Derek shown up tonight? Had he already gone by the Argent’s house and come by to let Stiles know what was going on? Then why didn’t he stay behind so he could tell Stiles now?

Which brought Stiles back around to wondering how long Derek had been there, waiting outside, listening to Stiles being questioned. How much had he overheard, and how much trouble was Stiles in because of it? Stiles remembered Derek’s reaction, or lack thereof, when his dad told him about Laura. Derek was normally stoic and he’d had a heads up if he’d been eavesdropping on their conversation, but Stiles couldn’t help thinking that there should’ve been something more, some show of grief, or surprise.

Yeah, it was true that they’d both been expecting the worst since Laura disappeared, but even so, finding out that the worst had come to pass had still caused Stiles to get all emotional and break down. Stiles didn’t expect Derek to break into tears in private, much less in front of witnesses, nevertheless his reaction to the news seemed somehow _less_ than what he’d expected even from Derek, who kept his thoughts, his emotions, close to his vest.

At a sound Stiles’ eyes jerked up to his window where Derek was slipping into his room. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t even heard Derek’s approach. Derek didn’t speak right away, just stared at Stiles, his expression shifting between defiant and uncomfortable. The expected dressing down for telling his dad stuff that maybe Derek would have preferred kept private never came.

Stiles stood up so he didn’t feel quite as vulnerable. “Did you already check out the Argents?”

“I drove by the house just to verify that’s where they’re staying,” Derek said. “I’ll go back later tonight for a closer look.”

“Oh. Then why did you stop by?”

“I knew your father would need to speak with me,” Derek said. “I wanted to make it easy on him, and get it over with.”

“But how could you . . . ?” And then it clicked. Derek hadn’t been surprised by the news that the body they’d found was Laura’s because . . . . “You knew. You already knew Laura was dead before my dad told you,” Stiles said. Not just ‘expected the worst’, but _knew_.

“Yes.”

Stiles felt as if he’d been punched in the chest. He couldn’t catch his breath. “But . . . how?”

For a moment it looked like Derek wasn’t going to answer, but then he said, “Because I found her.”

Stiles felt a cold dread settle over him. “When?”

“Last night.”

Stiles’ mouth opened and closed without making a sound. Finally he said, “This afternoon, when I was at the house, you already knew.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Stiles said. “Why didn’t you tell me? And do not give me a one word answer. I deserve an explanation. I deserved to _know_!” Without realizing that his feet were even moving Stiles had stepped closer to Derek. Close enough to hit him with his fist. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Stiles hit him again. “You should have told me!” Stiles cried out as he pounded his fists against Derek’s chest.

Even with more than human strength behind the blows Derek didn’t appear fazed by them. Which increased Stiles’ frustration. Derek allowed Stiles a little longer to work out some of his anger, and then grabbed his wrists and held them in a vise grip. No matter how hard he tried Stiles couldn’t free himself. Finally he stopped struggling.

“I _couldn’t_ tell you,” Derek said.

“You could have!” Stiles said, throwing his body into Derek’s to emphasize his point.

Derek didn’t so much as budge at the impact, which was aggravating.

“You wouldn’t have been able to hide the fact that you already knew from your father,” Derek said reasonably.

“I could have,” Stiles declared, even though he wasn’t one hundred percent certain he could have.

“Now you’re just being stubborn,” Derek said mildly.

Stiles subsided against Derek, his face pressed into Derek’s shoulder. “You found her?” he said into the leather.

“Yes,” Derek said, his voice tight.

“It was really her,” Stiles said, shell shocked despite the fact that he’d identified her tattoo only an hour ago. “She’s never coming back.” The words ended on a sob, but Stiles was too filled with hurt to be embarrassed.

Derek growled low in his throat, not a threatening sound but almost in solidarity with Stiles’ sorrow. It wasn’t until Stiles finally gathered himself together that he realized that Derek’s hand was moving up and down his back.

“Are you . . . petting me?”

“No,” Derek snarled, but he didn’t stop the soothing motion.

Stiles would never say it out loud, but he was kind of glad.

“Where is she now?” Stiles asked.

“I buried her,” Derek said. “There was this tree where she used to love to sit . . . .”

“She still does,” Stiles said, remembering the times he’d driven out to the Hale house and Laura had been there ahead of him, waiting patiently beneath that tree. “Did,” he corrected, and his breath hitched. “That’s a good place. She’d like it there.”

Stiles didn’t even realize he’d started crying until Derek crooned ( _crooned_ , which surely meant that hell had indeed frozen over), “Shh, stop now, you’re going to make yourself sick.”

Derek maneuvered them over to the bed. He laid Stiles down (though not without a protest at having to release the hold he didn’t remember taking on Derek’s t-shirt), and then joined him, pausing only to remove his jacket first. Stiles unselfconsciously cuddled right up to Derek as if a magnet drew them together. He pressed his nose into Derek’s neck and didn’t feel complete until Derek had his face in Stiles’ neck, as well.

Derek held him, hands that had thrown him through the air now gentle. Stiles’ arms were trapped between them, but he was able to stroke his thumb over Derek’s stomach. When Derek’s shirt rode up and Stiles’ thumb touched bare skin, Stiles only hummed his satisfaction against Derek’s neck and relaxed even more into him.

“What are you doing?” Derek said stiffly.

“Comforting you,” Stiles said, not sure where the words came from but knowing they were true.

“I don’t need comfort.”

“Yes, you do. You can cry, you know, if you need to,” Stiles added.

“I don’t have any tears left,” Derek said.

Stiles pictured sixteen year old Derek crying out all his tears for the family he’d lost in such an horrific manner. “That’s sad,” he said, not knowing whether he was talking about then, now, or both. If Derek had a response Stiles didn’t hear it.

Stiles woke to his father’s voice speaking his name.

“Five more minutes, Dad,” Stiles said.

“Now, Stiles,” his dad said, sounding torn between amusement and irritation.

“Stiles,” Derek said softly.

Stiles jerked completely awake. He flailed and pushed himself away from Derek, ending up on the floor. “It’s not what it looks like,” Stiles said.

“We’ll talk about that later,” his dad told Stiles. He turned to Derek, who had risen a lot more gracefully from the bed than Stiles had and was reaching for his jacket. “Derek. I thought you’d left.”

“I did, Sir,” Derek said. “I came back with the hairbrush you requested.” Derek held up a brush that Stiles hadn’t even seen. “If you need anything else . . . . Well, goodnight.”

Stiles watched Derek leave and wondered what kind of alien had taken over Derek’s body. He’d heard him speak more words tonight than in the past four days. When Derek was gone Stiles’ gaze moved to his father, who was looking back at him. Stiles tried very hard to look innocent of whatever it was his father thought he might have done. Especially since it was very possible that he _had_ done it.

“I need to take care of this,” his dad said, holding up the brush Derek had passed to him on his way out. “We’ll talk when I’m done. Don’t go anywhere.”

Stiles didn’t know where his dad thought he might go. He pushed himself to his feet and sat on the bed, back pressed against the headboard, knees pulled up to his chest. He stared at his feet and waited. He thought briefly of looking at his homework, but quickly dismissed the idea. There was no way he’d be able to concentrate on it. He considered calling Scott, but that would entail trying to hide his grief, which Stiles figured he would suck at, or offering explanations that Stiles wasn’t ready to give.

His dad returned fifteen minutes later. He leaned against the door jam, arms folded across his chest. “Are you alright?”

Stiles shrugged. “Sometimes. And then it hits me again.”

His dad nodded. They had both been through that before, the pain of losing someone you cared about.

“Derek said he didn’t have any tears left,” Stiles said. “Isn’t that sad?”

“That boy’s had a lot of tragedy in his life,” his dad commented.

Stiles nodded his agreement.

“So,” his dad said awkwardly. “I think I may have been asking you about the wrong Hale earlier.”

“What?” Stiles said.

“But I’m not quite ready to have that conversation about this one.”

“No, Dad . . . .”

“Not that I want you to think you can’t talk to me about this sort of thing.”

“I don’t . . . .”

“Listen,” his dad said, effectively changing the subject. “I still want you to be home tomorrow before it gets dark out.”

Stiles perked up a little bit. “Does that mean I’m not grounded?”

“For now,” his dad grudgingly allowed. “Don’t make me revisit that.”

“I won’t,” Stiles promised.

His dad gave him a look that told Stiles how little faith he had in that assurance.

~*~*~*~

“Hey,” Scott said as soon as he saw Stiles Tuesday morning. “I heard they found a body in the woods.”

Stiles shouldn’t have been surprised at the comment – Scott knew Stiles couldn’t keep his nose out of his dad’s official business, especially anything juicy – and yet he felt as if he’d been sucker punched in the gut. His eyes burned and he blinked furiously to keep the tears from falling.

“What’s wrong?” Scott said, sounding worried.

Stiles grabbed Scott’s arm and dragged him across the lawn and away from the school entrance.

“You’re freaking me out,” Scott said. “Do you realize you haven’t spoken a word since you got here. That’s not natural, dude.”

“You can’t tell anyone,” Stiles said.

“That you’re not talking?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “No. What I’m about to tell you, you can’t tell anyone.”

“Okay,” Scott agreed.

“I mean, this is . . . .” Stiles broke off. “Swear.”

“I swear,” Scott said. “Seriously. Freaking. Me out.”

Stiles looked around to make sure they were alone. He even used his hearing to ensure no one was close enough to overhear them. His dad hadn’t specifically said he couldn’t say anything, but Stiles still didn’t want to announce it to the entire school. “It was Laura,” Stiles said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What was?”

“The body,” Stiles said. “It was Laura.”

Stiles felt the sting of tears again at the words. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I’m not going to cry,” he said, as much for himself as for Scott.

Scott touched Stiles’ shoulder. “What happened?”

“I don’t know yet,” Stiles admitted, only then realizing that he hadn’t gotten the details from either his father or Derek. “It was like the others, I think.”

“A wild animal attack?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, biting back the urge to tell Scott the truth. To tell him everything that had happened to Stiles since Laura returned to Beacon Hills and bit him.

“I’m sorry, man,” Scott said.

Stiles nodded. He dropped his hands. “They haven’t made a positive ID yet,” he said. “But my dad . . . I recognized her tattoo. The one on her ankle.”

“That must’ve been rough,” Scott said, sounding the slightest bit titillated at the idea of identifying a dead body. A sentiment Stiles would have shared at any other time.

“It was,” Stiles said.

“Is it true they only found half the body?”

Scott’s curiosity was natural, and it was a question Stiles himself would have eagerly asked if the circumstances were different. Still, he had to take a deep breath and restrain himself from lashing out at Scott, either verbally or physically.

“Yes,” Stiles answered the question. “Is it okay if we don’t talk about that?”

“Yeah, of course,” Scott agreed. “Was that insensitive?”

“No,” Stiles assured Scott. “It’s just too . . . .”

“Soon?”

Raw. It was too raw. Stiles felt as if he’d been rubbed down with sandpaper, his skin peeled away, all of him left open and bleeding. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Too soon.”

“I’m really sorry,” Scott said. “I know you liked her.”

“I did,” Stiles said. He wished again that he could tell Scott everything, could share with him just how much Laura had meant to him, what she’d _been_ to him. But he couldn’t. Laura had impressed upon him how important secrecy was to the survival of their kind, and now with hunters in town, and Scott mooning over an Argent, it wasn’t safe. The slightest slip could mean Stiles’ life. And Derek’s.

“Listen,” Stiles said. “I don’t know if they’ve released her name to the public yet, so don’t say anything, okay? My dad would kill me if he found out I’d blabbed official department business.”

“Yeah, okay,” Scott said distractedly as he watched Allison Argent say goodbye to her father.

It wasn’t a good guess – Stiles’ hearing had kicked in the moment he saw Allison and he heard her call the man ‘dad’. Allison’s father glanced over at them as if he’d felt their eyes on him. (As a hunter he’d probably developed some instincts of his own.) Even from where they stood Stiles saw the corner of his lips twitch when he saw Scott staring at Allison like a besotted fool. His gazed moved from Scott to Stiles.

Stiles quickly looked away. He smacked Scott. “Dude. Allison’s father is watching you drool all over her.”

Scott jerked his eyes from Allison to her father, and then turned his whole body away from them.

“Subtle,” Stiles said. “But seriously, you can’t say anything.”

“I won’t,” Scott said, glancing over his shoulder, but Allison had already disappeared into the building and the red Tahoe had pulled away from the curb.

“Are you even paying attention to me?”

“Yes,” Scott said. “I won’t tell anyone that the body they found belongs to Laura Hale,” he said, probably louder than he’d intended. Stiles glanced around, but no one was looking their way. He glared at Scott, who gave him a sheepish look. “Sorry.”

Stiles sighed. “I’m supposed to be the one with the short attention span and inappropriate words.”

Scott bumped Stiles’ shoulder. “Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

“I wouldn’t rub off on you if you were the last person on earth,” Stiles said.

“Dude, you so would.”

~*~

Stiles made it through the day without crying once. He’d go hours without thinking about Laura, and then something would remind him and he’d have to force down the tears before the burn of them became the actuality of them streaming down his face. That would be embarrassing. And difficult to explain.

Stiles was a little less careful than he should have been during lacrosse practice, though. It felt good to bleed off some of his frustration and hurt and anger by whipping the ball through the air.

“Stilinski!” Coach Finstock yelled. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’ve had a really bad couple of days, Coach,” Stiles said.

“I like it,” Finstock said. “Keep it up.”

Stiles shook his head at the Coach’s words, but it had been enough of a reminder. Stiles forced himself to pull back. He wasn’t going to tarnish Laura’s memory by disregarding the lessons she’d taught him. His next run at the goal Stiles missed wide; the one after that he drove the ball into the ground at Danny’s feet. Jackson smirked. Coach Finstock blew his whistle.

“What’s going on, Stilinski?”

“I guess I worked out all my frustration, Coach,” Stiles said.

The coach gave Stiles a disgusted look and blew the whistle again.

“Who’s that?” Scott said when Stiles joined him at the end of the line.

“Where?” Stiles said, though he didn’t need to look. He’d felt Derek’s approach before he’d even reached the sidelines. Derek’s presence had actually helped Stiles regain his equilibrium, though he would never admit that to Derek.

“Over there,” Scott said, using his chin to indicate the direction he wanted Stiles to look. “The hot guy in the leather jacket. He’s been staring at you.”

Boring holes, more like, but all Stiles said was, “You think he’s hot?”

“Sure,” Scott said. “I mean, objectively speaking. He’s got the whole bad boy thing going on for him, with the stubble and the leather jacket.”

“Really? You don’t think the stubble’s a little, I don’t know, 1980s?”

“You weren’t even born in the 1980s,” Scott said.

“I’ve seen Miami Vice repeats,” Stiles reminded Scott. “And the hair looks like it defies gravity,” he added, knowing Derek could hear him.

“Girls probably want to run their fingers through it,” Scott said.

“You don’t think the jacket screams ‘I’m trying too hard’?” Stiles couldn’t help glancing over to where Derek was rolling his eyes at him.

Scott didn’t bother answering. “Do you know him or not?”

“Yeah, actually,” Stiles said. “That’s Laura’s brother, Derek.” His voice only cracked a little bit on Laura’s name.

“Derek Hale?” Scott said.

Before Stiles could respond, Coach Finstock yelled, “McCall! Would you like to join us?”

“Yeah, sorry, Coach,” Scott said as he took the ball and ran the drill.

The next time Stiles glanced over Derek was gone, but he could still feel him.

~*~

“So, what’s Derek Hale doing back in Beacon Hills?” Scott asked Stiles after practice.

Stiles dropped his practice jersey into his duffel bag. “I guess Laura was considering staying in Beacon Hills for good,” Stiles said, remembering the overheard conversation from last night. “She must’ve wanted Derek to come back with her.”

“Instead he comes back to find out she’s dead and he’s alone.”

More alone than Scott realized. “Yeah,” Stiles said.

“What are you doing tonight?” Scott asked.

“I thought I’d go check on Derek,” Stiles said. “My dad talked to both of us last night.”

“That must’ve sucked,” Scott commiserated.

“You are not wrong,” Stiles said dryly.

About twenty minutes later Stiles pulled up to the old Hale house. He sat in the Jeep for a few minutes staring at the burnt remnants and wondering what it had looked like before the fire, with a bunch of little Hale’s running around.

“Are you just going to sit there?” Derek said from right outside the driver’s side door.

Stiles jumped. He glared at Derek through the window. “You really need to stop doing that.”

Derek just raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah, I need to pay better attention to my surroundings,” Stiles said as he pushed the door open and slid out of Betty to stand beside Derek. “How can you pay attention to everything all the time?”

“By paying attention,” Derek said.

Stiles sighed. “That doesn’t actually help, you know that, right?”

“Which you weren’t doing at practice today.”

“I knew you were there before Scott said anything!” Stiles said.

“I meant _on_ the field.”

“Oh.”

“You need to be more careful. If you can’t control yourself you’ll have to quit the team,” Derek said calmly, as if he hadn’t just pulled the rug out from under Stiles’ feet.

“What? No!”

“You can’t tell me that Laura didn’t tell you the same thing,” Derek said. (Only a werewolf would have heard the break in his voice when he said her name.)

Stiles wanted to argue that she hadn’t said any such thing (implying wasn’t the same as saying), but he knew that Derek would be able to sniff out the half-truth. Heck, he could probably tell that Stiles was even considering lying to him.

“She said I’d be able to control it,” Stiles said.

“And you can, you _do_ , when you’re paying attention.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine, I’ll try to pay better attention, alright?”

Derek stared at him for a moment, then said, “There is no try, only do.”

Stiles forgot all about his frustration with Derek. “Oh my god, did you just quote Yoda?”

“No.” Derek turned and walked away.

Stiles fell into step beside him, which meant running a little bit to catch up with Derek’s long strides. “You did!” he crowed happily.

Derek glared at him. Stiles was too excited to be affected by it.

“You’re a closet nerd! That’s okay,” Stiles added quickly at Derek’s growl. “Nerds can be sexy. Look at me.”

Derek stopped walking and did look at Stiles. He couldn’t help preening a little bit.

“Sexy, right? The girls are falling all over me.”

“I’ve seen you walk,” Derek said. “If anyone’s falling, it’s you.”

“Oh, ha!” Stiles said. “Why is that, anyway? I mean, you’re all . . . panther-like.” At Derek’s growl Stiles hurriedly changed that to, “Wolf-like. And Laura was graceful. Why am I still . . . ?”

“Clumsy as a newborn colt?”

Stiles wasn’t sure whether he should be insulted by that. “Something like that, yes.”

“Because you’re a teenager. And you were bitten, rather than born a werewolf.”

Stiles nodded his understanding, and then said, “Hey!” when Derek added, “Plus, you’re you.”

Stiles couldn’t be too upset, though, because he actually thought he saw Derek smile at that, however briefly. They were silent after that, Stiles keeping pace with Derek even though he had no idea where they were going. Finally Derek stopped walking. Stiles started to ask what they were doing there when he recognized the tree.

“Oh.” Stiles blinked back the sting of tears. The ground beneath the tree looked undisturbed, but upon closer inspection Stiles could see where Derek had replaced the sod. The only indication that this was Laura’s final resting place was the heart carved into the bark, with the initials ‘LH’ inside it. Stiles stepped around the grave, giving in to the feeling of not wanting to step on Laura, and placed his hand over the carved heart.

“Was it the same as the others?” Stiles asked as he stared at the bark. He didn’t think he could ask if he was looking at Derek. “Was she . . . ?”

“To the authorities it’ll appear to be another wild animal attack,” Derek said.

Stiles had to bite back a sob. Laura was dead, and she’d been killed by another werewolf. But how could that have happened to her?

“How could she be killed by another werewolf?” Stiles said. “She was so strong.”

Stiles didn’t understand it, exactly, but she’d supposedly been even stronger having added Stiles to her pack. With him she had the three she needed to be an effective Alpha, even though one of their number was still in a coma and Derek had been out of town.

“I don’t know,” Derek said, biting off the words.

Stiles turned back to look at Derek. “We’re going to find out, though, right?”

Derek turned his angry eyebrows loose on Stiles.

“Don’t give me that look,” Stiles said. “You are not cutting me out of this. I cared about her, too.”

“It could be dangerous,” Derek growled.

“This rogue werewolf already killed another werewolf,” Stiles said, ignoring the pang in his chest at the cavalier words. “Do you think it’s going to leave us alone now that it knows we’re here, that we’re hunting it? You really think I’m going to be safer if I don’t know what’s going on? Haven’t you watched enough horror movies to know that you never, ever get separated?”

“I don’t watch horror movies.”

Nothing came out the first time Stiles opened his mouth to speak. “That is so not the point. And besides, I have some ideas, but if we’re not working together I’ll just do it myself.”

“No.”

“Yes. And you know I totally will.”

“Fine,” Derek snarled, clearly unhappy to be conceding the point. “But we do things my way, and you follow my directions. To the letter.”

When Stiles didn’t answer immediately Derek moved into his personal space and backed him up against the tree. “I mean it, Stiles. As the elder it is my job to keep you safe.”

“Really?”

“And of the two of us, who has more experience _being_ a werewolf?”

“Um, you do?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t have as much experience lying to my dad or sneaking into the Sheriff Station.”

“You have experience sneaking into the Sheriff Station?”

“Well, no, but . . . .”

Derek slammed his hand against the tree beside Stiles’ head. “Promise me,” Derek growled. “We do things my way. You listen. Or I’ll lock you in the dungeon and leave you there until I’ve taken care of the werewolf myself.”

“You have a . . . ?” Stiles started excitedly. “Right,” he said at Derek’s look. “Not the point. Fine. You’ve got lead on this. I’ll listen,” he added when Derek didn’t appear convinced. “I’ll be the sidekick with the really awesome ideas.”

Derek twitched as he drew away from Stiles.

“Like Batman and Robin.”

“We are not Batman and Robin,” Derek ground out.

“Sure thing. Bruce.”

Derek shook his head, but didn’t say anything. Verbally. His eyebrows, however, spoke volumes. All he said, though, was, “What’s your idea?”

~*~

“You want to break into the Sheriff Station,” Derek said.

“No,” Stiles said. “We can walk through the front door of the Sheriff Station. We only need to break into the evidence locker.”

“Only.”

“Sure, it _sounds_ like a daunting task, but we’re two wily werewolves, so it shouldn’t be that difficult.”

Derek growled deep in his throat at being called a ‘wily werewolf’.

“Batman and Robin could do it,” Stiles said.

“Tell me your plan before I tear your head off,” Derek said.

“Prickly. Okay, okay!” Stiles said, holding up his hands in surrender. “My dad has a key to the evidence locker. He locks his gun and keys in the safe when he’s at home.”

“How does that help us?”

“I thought you could use your extensive werewolf experience to crack the safe. You know, listen for when it clicks, or whatever.”

Derek looked like he was actually considering it.

“Wow, really? Cool. But unnecessary because I actually know the combination.”

Derek gave Stiles an irritated look. “Your parents’ anniversary? Mom’s birthday?”

“Please,” Stiles scoffed. “My dad is way smarter than that. He used the date my mom came home from the doctor and told us she had cancer.” Stiles huffed a laugh that held little humor. “Because he likes to punish himself.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek said stiffly, as if he wasn’t used to offering comfort.

Stiles waved away the sentiment. “We’ve got other things to worry about now. My point is, I can get the key and make a copy of it.”

“Okay. How do we get in there?”

“We go in at lunch time.”

“Why lunch time?” Derek asked.

“For one thing, my dad won’t be there,” Stiles said. “He’ll be out getting a greasy burger from some fast food joint, that he thinks I don’t know about. I can get past the front desk on the pretext of bringing him a healthy lunch. I’ve done it before.”

“What about me?”

“You,” Stiles began. “This is a little more . . . .”

“Just spit it out.”

“You go in to ask the Sheriff when they’re going to release Laura’s body for burial,” Stiles said hurriedly, watching for Derek’s reaction to the proposal.

Derek gave Stiles a look equal parts surprised and impressed. “That’s actually a good idea.”

“Yeah? I mean, yeah, of course it is.”

“But how do I get past the front desk?”

“That’s gonna take a little bit of acting on both our parts. I go in first, and when I’m coming out of my dad’s office I see you, ask what you’re doing there. You tell me, get a little bit emotional, I’m the caring friend that offers to let you wait in his dad’s office, and voila, you’re past the front desk.”

“And then?”

“And then we sneak into the evidence room.”

“There appears to be a gap in your plan. You make it sound like a cake walk.”

“I’d never say that,” Stiles said. “Because _I_ wouldn’t want to jinx us. But it’ll be easier than at any other time with half the employees taking their lunch break, the others are gonna be busier, answering phones, manning the front desk. In the chaos we’ll barely be noticed.”

“The security cameras will still notice us.”

Stiles smiled. “I can take care of that, too.”

~*~

They went in the next day during lunch. Things went smoothly until they got to the security camera outside the evidence locker. Stiles had only caught a little bit of flack for showing up on a school day, but once he held up the brown bag they’d let him back. Derek had even managed to make his voice crack when he told Stiles why he was at the station, but Stiles wasn’t sure if it had been actual emotion or laughter at Stiles’ acting efforts that caused it.

Now they were standing at the mouth of the hallway that led to the evidence locker. Stiles tried not to think about Derek’s skeptical reaction to his plan (“A nerf ball, really?” “I used to play this game all the time. No one will think it the least bit suspicious.”). The cameras were loose and Stiles had learned as a bored youngster that an accidental hit with a nerf ball would knock them askew.

Of course, now that he was trying to hit it on purpose, his aim was for shit. “The growling over my shoulder isn’t helping,” Stiles said. “Why didn’t the bite give me perfect aim?”

“Give me that,” Derek said. He hit the camera on his first throw, but it didn’t budge.

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles said as he retrieved the ball. “Maybe they tightened the screws, or something.”

“Stiles. Derek.”

“Shit,” Stiles swore softly before turning to face the music. “Do not sneak up on me like that.”

His dad just raised his eyebrows at Stiles’ comment. “I thought we told you not to throw your ball around in here. Back when you were twelve.”

“Uh . . . .”

“Maybe Derek shouldn’t be hanging around such a corrupting influence.”

“Me?” Stiles yelped.

Derek gave Stiles a grin that was all teeth. It was gone by the time he turned back to Stiles’ dad.

“Please don’t blame Stiles, Sir. He was just trying to take my mind off the reason I’m here.”

“Does this visit have to do with your sister?”

“It does,” Derek said.

“Why don’t we take this to my office where we won’t be overheard.” His dad gave Stiles a significant look.

Stiles tried to look innocent. “What?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

“Yes. But I brought you a healthy lunch. So you can throw out the greasy burger and curly fries, don’t think I don’t know where you were when I got here.”

“School,” his dad repeated. “I better not get a call from the Principal, young man.” He turned his attention back to Derek. “This way, Derek.”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you ignoring the whole matter of the curly fries!” Stiles called after his dad.

“Shit!” Stiles swore again when Derek and his dad disappeared around the corner, his dad out of hearing range. It had been such a _good_ plan, too. In frustration, Stiles whipped the ball down the hallway. It bounced off two walls and hit the camera. It moved.

“Oh-h-h!” Stiles said. “I did it!” He waved his hands towards the camera as his whole body shook with excitement. “It moved! Derek! You’re not here. And I’ve got the key. I’m not you,” Stiles mused, “but we will probably not get another chance at this. I’m going in,” he said decisively.

Stiles heard Derek’s low growl and his dad’s, “Derek, are you okay?”

“It’ll be fine,” Stiles said, and then repeated it, not sure whether he was trying to convince Derek or himself.

Stiles quickly unlocked the door to the evidence locker and slipped inside. It was dark, but he didn’t turn on a light that might give him away. As soon as his eyes adjusted he scanned the shelves for the case numbers he’d memorized. For a small county where anything exciting rarely happened there were a lot of open, cold, and waiting-for-trial cases.

“I found them,” Stiles said when his gaze finally fell on the boxes he needed. It felt like it had taken forever to find them, but Stiles knew it had only been a few seconds.

Stiles opened the first box, which wasn’t sealed, and took out a bag of evidence, which was. It held a shirt – or what was left of one. Stiles examined the bag, trying to figure out how he was going to open it without compromising the evidence inside. He knew all about the chain of custody from sitting and listening to his dad talk when he was younger. He’d used to love doing that.

Stiles shook himself out of the memories and resumed his study of the evidence bag. He knew that the case would never make it to trial, but he didn’t want his dad to get into trouble if anyone happened to discover that the evidence had been tampered with. Finally he just used a claw to slit a small hole in the bottom seam of the bag, one that he hoped would go unnoticed upon a cursory inspection of the file.

Stiles squeezed the shirt against the hole and held the bag to his nose. Despite the small hole he was assailed with the scent of blood and fear. Stiles practically threw the bag away from his face as he gagged on the overwhelming scents.

“It’s difficult, sometimes,” Derek’s voice came to him. “To ignore the bad and concentrate on the good.”

Stiles’ dad said something in reply but Stiles wasn’t listening. Because sorting through the sounds assaulting him and concentrating only on the ones he wanted to hear was something he could do because Laura had taught him how. Just as she’d taught him to separate scents by tossing him into a dumpster and telling him to find the sock she’d thrown in there.

Short of digging through the entire dumpster to find the sock Stiles’d had to narrow his focus – ignore the smells he didn’t want, old pizza, rotting garbage, rat shit, and concentrate on Laura’s familiar scent. He’d done it then, he could do it now.

Stiles brought the bag back to his face and took a tentative sniff. The scent of blood and fear were still there, but he pushed them aside and sought out the other scents hidden beneath them. Stiles found them – the Chinese meal the victim had eaten before the attack, the cologne he’d splashed on way too liberally in an attempt to cover the scent of alcohol, and two other distinct scents Stiles couldn’t identify. One probably belonged to the victim, the other to the killer.

Stiles returned the bag to the first box and opened the second. He pulled out a bagged wife beater that had seen better days even before the murder. Stiles slit the seam and held the bag to his face. He sorted the scents, dismissing the ones he could identify and searching out others until he found one he recognized but couldn’t identify. The same scent that had been on the other shirt. Stiles had the scent of the murderer. Now they just had to find him.

Stiles returned everything to the shelves so nothing looked as if it had been disturbed. He listened at the door before stepping into the hallway, eyes blinking against the bright lights. Stiles went out the back door so he didn’t have to walk past his father’s office, and then hurried around to the front lot where Derek’s Camaro was parked off to the side. Derek sat behind the wheel, engine already running, passenger door open for him.

“What did you find?” Derek growled as soon as Stiles slid into the seat.

Stiles took a moment to fasten his seatbelt before answering.

“Really?” Derek said.

“Just because I can heal doesn’t mean I want to be thrown through the windshield,” Stiles said. He’d been impressed with the Camaro when Derek had picked him up outside the school, but quickly less impressed with Derek’s driving, which reflected, in Stiles’ estimation, the risk taking of someone who’d had super dooper powers of healing their entire life.

Derek gritted his teeth. “You are not going to get thrown through the windshield.”

“I know.” Stiles patted the now securely fastened seatbelt.

“Though I could be persuaded to make an exception,” Derek said warningly.

“I found something,” Stiles said. “A scent I didn’t recognize, but it was on evidence from both victims.”

There was a tic in Derek’s jaw and Stiles knew that he was wishing he had the scent. Stiles wished there was some way he could share it with Derek. Derek pulled up outside the school. He grabbed Stiles’ arm before he could undo the seatbelt and get out.

“Will you recognize it when you smell it again?”

“I think so,” Stiles said. He remembered Laura, and thought that whoever, whatever had killed those two men had also killed her. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll remember.”

~*~

“Where were you?” Scott said as they walked to the locker room together after the last bell.

“What?”

“You weren’t at lunch,” Scott said.

Stiles made his eyes go really wide. “You noticed? I thought you only had eyes for Allison these days.”

Scott looked sheepish and actually pinked up a little bit. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said dryly. “Very pretty.”

“But you’re not changing the subject. Where did you go?”

“I took a healthy lunch over to my dad because he starts eating crap the minute he’s out of my sight.”

“What did he say?”

“Who?” Stiles said as he opened his locker.

“Your dad,” Scott said as if Stiles was the one acting weird here.

“Well,” Stiles said, “he reminded me that I should be in school. And he refused to admit he needs help for a curly fries addiction, but it’s not like I couldn’t smell them, so I knew he’d gotten them.”

“Does your dad know Derek?”

“Uh, yeah, they’ve met. You know, when he questioned him about . . . .”

“Oh, yeah,” Scott said, wincing. “Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Stiles said. It was the first time all day that he’d felt the pang at missing Laura. He’d been running on adrenaline both before and after they’d broken into the evidence locker, so that even sniffing evidence from the other two murders hadn’t reminded him of Laura’s loss.

“He must really like Derek,” Scott said.

“What?” Stiles said, as he was dragged back into the conversation.

“Your dad,” Scott said as he bent down to remove his sneakers. “He must really like Derek.”

Stiles stared down at the back of Scott’s head. “Why would you say that?”

“Because he didn’t give you a police escort back to school.”

Stiles shook his head. “Still not getting it.”

“He let Derek bring you back. Your Jeep was in the lot, so I’m guessing Derek’s the one who drove you to see your dad. If that’s really where you went.”

Stiles’ mouth opened and closed like a fish.

“I saw you getting out of Derek’s Camaro,” Scott said. “That was Derek driving, right?”

“Yes?” Stiles said. “Hey! What do you mean, if that’s where I really went?”

Scott raised his eyebrows. (Why was everyone always doing that to him?) “Do I really need to explain it?”

“Yes! Wait, no. Please don’t.” Stiles pulled his shirt off, then tugged on the long-sleeved shirt he wore under his practice jersey. “Why would you even think that?” he hissed once his head had popped through the neck hole.

“You said he was hot,” Scott said.

“I . . . what? No I didn’t. You did!”

“You didn’t disagree.”

“Really? I said he had funny hair.”

“You compared him to Sonny Crockett. Do I have to remind you of your not-so-little man crush the summer we . . . ?”

“We promised, we _pinky swore_ , never to speak of that again!” Stiles said. He toed off his sneaker with enough force to bounce it off Scott’s shin. “Oops.”

“I just . . . I hope you know I wouldn’t care. It doesn’t matter to me if you like guys. Or girls. Or both, whatever.”

“That’s really sweet,” Stiles said. “But I like girls. Remember Lydia?”

“Yeah,” Scott said. “But I was starting to think you didn’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do you realize that you haven’t leered at or drooled over Lydia in weeks?”

“Yes I have,” Stiles said.

“Not since Laura came to town,” Scott continued as if Stiles hadn’t even spoken. “I actually thought maybe you had a thing for her. A little cliche, maybe, falling for your tutor, but . . . .”

“Why does everyone think that?” Stiles said.

“Who’s everyone?”

“Never mind,” Stiles said. “There was nothing like that going on between me and Laura. Nothing.”

“Well, I know that _now_ ,” Scott said.

“Good.”

“Laura was pretty, but Derek’s hot. I can see why you’d be attracted to him.”

“Oh my god, I’m not . . . .”

“Hey, I’m not judging,” Scott said. “I just want you to know you can talk to me about it. If you want.”

“There is nothing to talk about!” Stiles said.

“Just be careful,” Scott said. “He looks like he could be . . . .” Scott flushed red. “Kinda rough.”

Scott hurried out to the lacrosse field before Stiles could reply to that bombshell. Which was just as well because Stiles couldn’t think of a thing to say to it. Stiles finished tying his cleats, then grabbed his stick and hustled to catch up to Scott. They both got into line for drills and pretty much ignored Coach Finstock because they never understood what he was saying, anyway.

“If I start having nightmares about this, I’m totally blaming you,” Stiles said.

“I think they’re called wet dreams,” Scott replied. “And whatever you do, don’t give me any details.”

Once again Stiles didn’t have anything to say to that, which just wasn’t normal because Stiles _always_ had a response at the ready. They usually got him into trouble, but he had them. Scott had already taken the ball from Finstock’s assistant coach and was running down the field with it when Stiles called out lamely, “Ditto!”

Not long after, Stiles was running a drill when he sensed Derek’s approach. “You’re giving people the wrong idea, hanging around like this,” he said, keeping his voice low as if he was talking to himself.

Stiles braced himself when he returned to the end of the line. Scott was grinning at him.

Stiles shook his head. “Don’t . . . .”

“I see your boyfriend showed up to watch practice.”

Stiles sighed. “I told you, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so,” Stiles said. “But maybe he could become my new best friend, because I might be in the market for one of those.” Sadly, that comment didn’t wipe the smile off Scott’s face. “Besides,” Stiles went on, thinking of Kate. “I’m pretty sure he’s into girls.”

“Did he say so?”

“No. We don’t actually talk about that kind of thing.”

“What kind of things do you talk about?”

Werewolves, hunters, murders.

“Derek isn’t actually much of a talker,” Stiles mused.

Scott’s grin widened.

“Oh my god!” Stiles said. “Will you get your mind out of the gutter?”

Scott was laughing as he turned back to the front of the line. Stiles ignored the pink elephant on the sidelines and pretended that if he didn’t look over there and acknowledge him, then Derek wasn’t really there. Even if he could hear Derek’s heartbeat. At least it was steady, which boded well for Stiles _not_ getting killed.

Scott didn’t mention Derek’s name for the rest of the practice. Stiles had actually started to relax his guard, which turned out to be a mistake. As soon as Coach Finstock released them, Scott started walking across the field. In the opposite direction from the locker room and straight for Derek.

“What are you doing?” Stiles hissed as soon as he caught up with Scott.

“I’m going to introduce myself to your boyfriend,” Scott said way more reasonably than Stiles thought a statement like that deserved.

“You’re _what_?” Stiles yelped.

“Let him know that I’m okay with you dating a guy, even if he is older than you. And looks like he could bench press you.”

Stiles’ imagination went there before he could stop himself. He groaned. “That’s an image I will never be able to get out of my head now.”

Scott smiled. “You’re welcome.”

“Not in a _good_ way!”

Stiles reached over and stopped Scott with a hand on his arm. “Please, don’t.”

Scott gently removed Stiles’ hand from his arm. “You shouldn’t have to hide this,” he said, and then continued on to where Derek stood.”

Derek had both hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He regarded Scott as though he didn’t know whether to humor him or squash him like a bug.

“Hi,” Scott said, only hesitating for a second at the expression on Derek’s face (which assured Stiles that at least Scott still had a modicum of survival instinct even if he had currently _lost his mind_ ) before sticking out his hand. “I’m Stiles’ best friend Scott.”

Derek looked at Scott’s hand and Stiles prayed that he wouldn’t bite it off. Literally. Derek slowly withdrew his hand from the pocket and took Scott’s. “I’m Derek.”

“I know,” Scott said. “Stiles told me. I just thought we should meet, you know, since you’re important to Stiles now, too.”

“Is that right,” Derek said.

Stiles wished the ground would open up and swallow someone. Preferably him.

“Uh, yeah.” Scott pulled his hand back. Again, not as dumb as he sometimes seemed. “So, maybe we could double date sometime?” he said, sounding slightly less certain.

“What?” Stiles said, horrified at the prospect. “You’re not even dating anyone! Yet,” he added at Scott’s look. “And hey, _neither am I_!”

“We’re not dating,” Derek agreed. “Stiles isn’t my type.”

“Hey!” Stiles turned his attention back to Derek. “I’m a catch, I’ll have you know. But,” he added at Derek’s expression. “Not with Derek. Because we are . . . incompatible. Not compatible. Zero compatibility. I hate his hair!”

“And you also think the jacket screams that I’m trying too hard,” Derek said dryly.

Stiles gave a nervous laugh. “That was a joke.”

“But,” Scott said. “The stubble!”

“Whoa!” Stiles said before Scott could expound upon Stiles’ appreciation of stubble. “We should probably get going now.”

Stiles took Scott’s arm and started to lead him away. “Bye now!” he called back to Derek.

“Goodbye,” Derek said, then added, “I’ll see you later, Stiles.”

“Oh my god!” Stiles said. “Do not encourage him!”

When Stiles turned around Derek was giving him the same toothy grin as he had earlier at the Sheriff Station. Stiles could not deny that it was nice to see Derek smile, even if it was at his own expense. Stiles turned away and ignored Derek until Derek had moved off far enough that he couldn’t feel him anymore. Back in the locker room he and Scott changed out of their cleats and gathered up their bags.

“I just don’t understand,” Scott said sadly.

Stiles opened his mouth to tell Scott not to feel bad for having gotten the wrong impression, but Scott went on before Stiles could say anything.

“Is it the age difference that makes you feel like you have to hide your relationship from everyone, including me?”

Before Stiles could deny it – again – Scott slumped out of the room. Stiles banged his head against his locker. When he straightened back up, Coach Finstock was standing at the end of the row of lockers, watching him.

“Let me know if that helps,” Finstock said before walking away.

Stiles sighed. “I will. But I doubt it’s going to.”

The End of Episode Two


	3. Episode Three: save me ‘cause I’m falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The full moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written: September 3, 2012

Stiles was almost embarrassed to show up at Derek’s after the debacle at lacrosse practice earlier. And Derek didn’t even know that Scott remained convinced that they were boyfriends despite both their denials. He couldn’t _not_ show up, though, because the full moon was only a couple nights away. He didn’t know what was going to happen on Friday night, once the moon rose, but he had to believe that he’d done everything he could to learn how to control himself after the moon forced the change.

His mind occupied with those thoughts, it took Stiles longer than it should have to realize that something was wrong. He braked and brought Betty to a stop about twenty yards into the long dirt drive that led to the Hale house. Stiles examined his surroundings using his sight, peering into the trees that lined both sides of the drive, but he saw nothing suspicious or even out of the ordinary.

Stiles listened. He didn’t turn off the engine in case he needed to make a quick getaway, but he catalogued the sound of it and then let it fade into the background. The first thing Stiles noticed was the _lack_ of sound. No birdsong from the tree tops, no chittering of squirrels from the branches, no rabbits moving through the tall grass. Which meant that something was out there, even if Stiles couldn’t see it or hear it.

The hair on the back of Stiles’ neck rose in a reaction to the danger he sensed. He felt his fangs drop, the claws emerge from the tips of his fingers. Stiles clumsily rolled the window down an inch and scented the air. He didn’t smell gun oil, or cold metal, or the scent masks hunters sometimes used in an often futile attempt to hide their scent. He did smell motor oil from the small leak Betty had developed in her engine, rope, and Derek.

“Derek,” Stiles said, not raising his voice. “I know you’re out there.” He waited, but there was no reply. “If I’m right you’d better show yourself. Please. Pretty please. Or I am getting the hell out of here.”

Not that Stiles really would run away. Because if that _wasn’t_ Derek, then something else was out there, which meant that something might have happened to Derek. Stiles would have to continue on to the Hale house even though every fiber of his being was screaming out what a bad idea that was.

Stiles heard nothing to betray his presence, but suddenly Derek was there, appearing out of nowhere and standing beneath a tree. Stiles let out a sigh of relief. His hand shook a little bit in delayed reaction as he fumbled with the door handle and practically fell out of Betty.

“Dude! I knew you were there! But, man, that was so not cool.”

Derek didn’t react as Stiles approached him, just stood there and waited. Stiles would’ve thought it was creepy if he wasn’t already familiar with Derek’s strong, silent demeanor.

“So, was that a test? Did I pa– ahhh!” Stiles ended the question on a scream as the trap he’d tripped closed on him. Literally. The rope Derek had hidden in the grass tightened around Stiles’ ankle and he was hoisted into the air until he dangled six feet above the ground. The momentum of being flung into the air and his futile struggles to escape left him twirling in a circle. And dizzy.

“Oh god,” Stiles groaned. “I think I’m gonna hurl.”

“That was the test,” Derek said as he studied Stiles’ predicament dispassionately. “Never let your guard down.”

“Lesson learned,” Stiles moaned. “Now could you let _me_ down?”

Instead of complying, or even replying to the request, Derek walked away, leaving Stiles hanging there.

“Uh, Derek? Where are you going?”

“Back to the house,” Derek said over his shoulder. “Join me when you’re done just hanging around.”

“Oh, funny,” Stiles said. “That was hil–, hey are you taking Betty? You are,” he said as Derek slid into the driver’s seat. “I can’t believe you’re . . . . What am I saying? Of course I can believe it! How’m I supposed to get there, fly?” Stiles threw the question at his disappearing Jeep. He didn’t get an answer. Not that he’d expected one.

Stiles closed his eyes as he spun. Watching the ground move below him was nauseating. He opened his eyes and looked up (down?) at his foot, studying the rope and hoping for inspiration. It took Stiles three attempts before he was able to lift his shoulders high enough that he could grasp the rope with one hand, bringing his face closer to the loop around his ankle. (He saw more crunches in his immediate future.)

Stiles studied the loop and determined that his body weight was keeping the rope tight around his ankle. The only way to loosen it would be to take the weight off. And the only way he could see to do that was to pull himself up the rope until his weight was above the loop. Stiles dragged himself up the rope, hand over hand. It was awkward, sweaty work, even with werewolf strength.

Stiles was almost there when his frustration at the situation got the better of him. He wolfed out and accidentally sliced through the rope with his claws. Stiles dropped like a rock. Or, he thought as he fell, I could just do that. Stiles twisted just before he hit the ground and managed to land on his hands and knees rather than his head. Snarling, Stiles tore the rope from around his ankle and ran all the way to the Hale house.

Derek sat on the steps waiting for him. He didn’t look as impressed with Stiles as Stiles was with himself. Stiles pulled up in front of Derek and put his hands on his hips.

“What was the point,” he snarled, “of leaving me dangling by that rope?”

“I won’t always be there to drag your ass out of the fire,” Derek said reasonably. “You need to be able to get yourself out of tight spots, think quick on your feet. Or off them, as the case may be.”

Derek’s face didn’t betray any amusement, but Stiles somehow knew that he was laughing at him. “You’re a comedian now?”

“How’d you finally get down?” Derek asked.

“I cut the rope with my claws,” Stiles said. “Accidentally,” he admitted.

“Why wasn’t that the first thing you thought of doing?” Derek said.

“I don’t know,” Stiles said. “I just . . . I’m not used to thinking that way, I guess.”

Derek nodded. “I know. But you need to _get_ used to it. Using your new abilities needs to become instinctual. Soon, you won’t have to think about it at all, you’ll just do it.”

Stiles sighed. “I need to pay more attention, not let my guard down, and think more like a werewolf. Got it.”

“Not yet,” Derek said. “But you will get it. Or die trying.”

“Ha! Look at you, making with the funny again. Anyone ever tell you that your jokes need work?”

Derek rose to his feet. “Who said I was joking?”

“It’s just . . . .” Stiles broke off and turned away from Derek. He looked out over the lawn towards the tree beneath which Laura lay. “There’s just so much to learn.”

It hadn’t seemed such an impossible task when Laura was still alive. But with her death had come a loss of faith in his ability to do this.

“Am I going to be ready?” Stiles said.

“No one’s ready for the first time,” Derek said.

Stiles gave a humorless laugh. “Awesome,” he said dryly. “What am I even doing, then?”

“I meant,” Derek said, “that it’s never what you expect it will be. And what you’re doing is learning to survive. Go home, Stiles.”

“What? No! Is this because I screwed up before? Because I can do . . . whatever it is you want me to do. Throw stuff at me, or throw _me_ around . . . .”

Derek touched Stiles’ shoulder and he trailed off. “We’ve done enough for today. Go home. Have dinner with your dad. Talk to Scott. Get some rest. Be ready for tomorrow.”

Derek let go of Stiles, climbed the steps, and strode across the porch towards the front door.

“What’s tomorrow, another test?” Stiles asked. “Derek, what’s tomorrow?”

Derek went inside the house (though suggesting there was an ‘inside’ was really misleading) without answering. Stiles kicked the bottom step.

“How am I supposed to get any rest now?”

~*~

Yet somehow Stiles did. And still he wasn’t prepared for Scott’s bright and cheerful, “How’s Derek?” the next morning.

“Derek’s an ass,” Stiles muttered.

Scott actually looked worried. “You guys didn’t have a fight, did you? Oh, man, was it my fault? I shouldn’t have let him know I knew about you guys, huh?”

“No, Scott, that’s not it,” Stiles said, but he’d already lost Scott’s attention. For once he was glad that Scott was distracted by Allison’s presence.

“She’s going to the party with me on Friday,” Scott told Stiles.

“Awesome,” Stiles said as he thought about what _he’d_ be doing Friday night.

Scott gave Stiles a sharp look. “Dude, you alright?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “Just . . . .” He waved his hand around.

“Is it because Derek can’t go to the party with you?” Scott said sympathetically.

“Scott,” Stiles said, exasperated. “Derek and I are not dating. Okay?”

Scott nodded very seriously. “Okay.” And then he winked at Stiles.

Stiles had the urge to slam his head into the locker again.

~*~

“Are you going to Derek’s after practice?” Scott asked as they jogged around the lacrosse field.

Stiles gritted his teeth. “Yes. But it’s _not_ what you think.”

“Oh, I know,” Scott said. And winked again. He’d been giving Stiles these _looks_ all day, but it was the winks that were starting to get to him.

“Seriously, dude,” Stiles said. “He’s . . . he’s helping me with lacrosse training.”

Scott grinned. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

“No! I mean, he really is.”

“Really?” Scott said skeptically.

“Yes, really.”

“Because I have to say, he’s not doing a very good job. No offense,” Scott added at Stiles’ look.

Stiles sighed. “None taken. It’s not his fault – look what he’s got to work with,” he joked. Sometimes he really hated that he couldn’t share his new abilities with Scott, even if he couldn’t let anyone else find out. Scott would think it was so cool. “It was just something to do, you know, instead of thinking about Laura all the time. But I think I’ll need a lot more than a few days of Derek’s not-so-tender mercies to wipe that perpetually smug look off Jackson’s face.”

“That would be cool, though, huh?” Scott said.

They both thought about it for a minute.

“It really would,” Stiles agreed.

“Hey, maybe I could join you!” Scott said. “Not all the time. Just sometimes,” he clarified at the frozen look on Stiles’ face.

“Uh . . . .” Why did it seem that whatever he did or said to try and keep his secret from Scott, or his father, he ended up deeper in it?

“Never mind,” Scott said, trying not to sound like a kicked puppy. “It was a bad idea.”

“No!” Stiles said. “It wasn’t. It’s just, I don’t know how Derek’ll feel about it.” Stiles sent a silent apology to Derek, who, for once, wasn’t being a creeper on the sidelines. “Like I said, we started the training just as something to do, to keep busy, you know? I’m not sure he expected it to go on as long as it has, much less taking on other students. But I’ll ask him. I will.”

“Okay,” Scott said. “It’s not a big deal if he doesn’t want to.”

Stiles heard the lie in Scott’s voice and for the first time didn’t think that his werewolf abilities were all that cool.

~*~

“I told Scott that you were helping me train for lacrosse,” Stiles said.

Derek’s eyebrows said, “Why?”

“Because he would not let go of the idea that we’re . . . you know. I had to come up with a plausible reason for us to be getting together, so . . . . It’s sort of true.” Stiles sighed. “Just one problem.”

The eyebrows said, "Only one?”

“Scott wants to know if he can join us to, you know, train. I know! I wasn’t thinking! Do _not_ say whatever it is that you’re thinking right now. I told him I’d ask, but I implied that you might not want to by telling him that we only started the training to keep busy while we were . . . when Laura was missing. He’ll understand,” Stiles said, even though he (and now Derek) knew that for the lie it was.

“Thanks,” Stiles said. “Great talk.”

Derek squatted beside Stiles, who sat with his back against the rickety porch railing, taking his life into his own hands and relying on his quick reflexes to save his life should the wood give way. “We don’t have time for this right now.”

“I know!” Stiles said.

“Can you put him off until after the full moon?”

“Yeah, I think so. He’s going to a party with Allison tomorrow night, so that’ll be the only thing on his mind tomorrow.”

“Then we’ll worry about it later. Tonight and tomorrow night we need to be concerned with the full moon.”

Stiles nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Derek said. “Then let’s get to work.”

“What’s it gonna be today?” Stiles said. “Toss me around? Chase me through the woods? Throw tennis balls at me? More tests?”

“None of the above,” Derek said. “Today we’re going to practice some relaxation techniques. When you feel yourself getting angry you can use them to center yourself, calm your mind.”

Flummoxed, Stiles just stared at Derek.

“What?” Derek said testily.

Stiles grinned. Derek’s eyebrows drew together. Stiles chuckled.

“ _You’re_ going to teach me _relaxation_ techniques?” Stiles said incredulously. “ _You_?”

Derek narrowed his eyes and glared at Stiles. “Yes,” he said, forcing the word out between clenched teeth.

Stiles started laughing. Once he started he couldn’t stop. Stiles laughed until tears flowed from his eyes and his sides ached with it. Even Derek planting a foot in his side and giving him a push down the porch steps couldn’t diminish his mirth.

From his back on the grass, Derek towering above him on the porch, Stiles tried to regain his composure. It was almost impossible with Derek glaring down at him. “You do . . . .” Stiles hiccuped. “See the irony in this, don’t you?”

Derek’s glare only intensified, which set Stiles off again. “I’m sorry,” he said through his laughter. “But you do have to admit that it’s . . . kind of funny.”

Stiles took deep breaths in an attempt not to laugh again. “Okay, maybe you don’t,” he said. “But it totally is.” He snorted once more before he could stop himself.

“Alright,” Stiles said. “I’m ready. Totally ready to clear my mind . . . .” Another chuckle escaped. “Can’t I just remember this moment?”

“No,” Derek said, sounding irritated, which of course got Stiles laughing again. “Maybe I _should_ toss you around a little bit,” Derek mused.

“No,” Stiles said. “No, that’s not necessary.” Stiles sat up and took deep breaths. “I’m really ready this time.” Another hiccup escaped. “Seriously.”

Derek gave him a look full of skepticism, but he sat down on the top step and started talking about, and then demonstrating, various methods of relaxation. Halfway through the lesson Stiles said, “It’s clear you don’t still use these techniques. But maybe you should.”

Derek growled, “Shut up and relax.”

“I rest my case.”

When Derek finally called an end to the training session, Stiles did not feel relaxed at all. He said as much to Derek.

“Just remember the techniques we practiced so you can implement them tomorrow,” Derek said impatiently.

“I’ve been learning control for weeks,” Stiles said. “Why won’t that be enough for tomorrow, too?”

“You’ve been learning how not to lose control on the lacrosse field,” Derek said. “Or when someone makes you angry. Isolated incidents. Tomorrow will be different. The pull of the full moon will start affecting you even before it rises. You’re going to have to work to reign yourself in all day. You’re going to need to remember the things you learned tonight,” he said. “You won’t want to, but the alternative is . . . .”

“Maiming and killing all my friends?” Stiles said.

“I was going to say exposing yourself, and me, to the hunters, but that, too.”

“No pressure then?”

Derek just gave him a look.

“Right,” Stiles said. He turned to head over to where he’d left Betty parked, then turned back. “Your first time, was it what you expected?”

“No.”

~*~*~*~

Stiles was out of sorts when he woke up the next morning. Enough so that when he mumbled a grumpy good morning into his cereal bowl his dad commented, “Get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”

Stiles didn’t figure out what was going on until he had the urge to snap someone’s arm off when they accidentally bumped into him in the hallway as he was on his way to his locker. Stiles didn’t know what the expression on his face was when he glared at the kid whose name he didn’t even know, but the kid backed up so fast he knocked someone else over. A small part of Stiles wanted to apologize, but the larger part still felt irrationally angry, so he walked away as quickly as possible, hoping that if he put distance between himself and the incident he might calm down.

Stiles didn’t feel safe until he reached his locker, though he knew the feeling would be fleeting. He pressed his forehead to the cool metal and closed his eyes. He did one of the breathing exercises Derek had taught him the night before.

“What’s wrong?” Scott said from right beside him.

Stiles took one last deep breath and opened his eyes. “I nearly ripped someone’s arm off,” Stiles said.

Scott’s eyebrows went up.

“Clearly an overreaction on my part,” Stiles said. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I have a feeling I”m going to be cranky today. Do me a favor? If I say something mean or obnoxious today, please just ignore me. I’m just being . . . .”

“Cranky?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles had thought that Derek was exaggerating the matter to scare him, but by second period he realized that Derek had understated the irritability he’d experience. (Stiles wondered if maybe that hadn’t been on purpose, if maybe it was different for born versus bitten werewolves, and he made a note to ask Derek about it later.) It was a little frightening how the slightest thing could set him off, and the amount of damage he could inflict before he brought himself back under control. So far he was lucky enough to have taken out his impending-full-moon induced anger on inanimate objects – a desk, two pencils, and a pen, which required a trip to the boys room to wash the ink off his fingers, and where he took the opportunity to dunk his head under a stream of cold water in hopes that _that_ might calm him down.

“How’s it going?” Scott asked when they met back at their lockers.

Stiles growled at him.

Scott blinked at Stiles. “Dude. Did you just growl at me?”

Stiles sighed. He gave Scott a sheepish look. “Maybe?”

Scott patted Stiles’ shoulder. “It’s okay. Next time though, maybe save it for Jackson.”

Stiles snorted. “I’d have probably torn _his_ face off.”

“Figuratively, right?”

“Yes?”

Scott smiled and shook his head. “Come on, let’s go before Harris gets on our case.”

Now there was a guy whose throat Stiles wouldn’t mind ripping out. Breathe, Stiles told himself, just breathe.

The day did not get better. Stiles didn’t attack anyone else, verbally or physically, but he knew it was only a matter of time. He felt as if every little thing rubbed him the wrong way. Stiles kept bracing himself for the final straw to break the back of his already faltering self-control. Stiles used each of the methods Derek had taught him, rotating them. Sometimes it took more than one to calm himself. It was English class where the teacher finally noticed his preoccupation.

“Mr. Stilinski, are you with us?” Mr. Larson asked.

“Yes, sir,” Stiles said. “I was just meditating on the tragic romance of Romeo and Juliet.”

“That would be commendable, Mr. Stilinski, if we were reading “Romeo and Juliet.” Do you have anything to say about the book we _are_ reading?”

At that moment Stiles had no idea _what_ book they were reading. Stiles felt the wood start to give under the fingers he had clamped onto the desk. He sensed the change, knew his eyes now glowed yellow. For the first time since the bite Stiles felt real fear that his own lack of control would get him found out. Would get him and Derek killed. The thought was not calming. At all. It made him want to strike out at everyone. Kill them before they could kill him.

Scott kicked the back of Stiles’ chair and hissed, “Dude! He’s still waiting for an answer!”

It made Stiles want to turn and lash out at Scott, slash his claws across Scott’s throat and watch the blood spill out . . . . The rage left Stiles as quickly as it had come at the thought of having Scott’s blood on his hands.

“No, sir,” Stiles told Mr. Larson. “Poor Romeo and Juliet are taking up all my thoughts right now.”

“Excellent. You can tell us what you find so fascinating about Romeo and Juliet when we do get to that book.”

“Awesome,” Stiles said, feeling more like himself than he had all day. “Be happy to.”

“Thanks,” Stiles whispered to Scott when Mr. Larson had turned his attention elsewhere.

“No problem. I was having nightmares of permanent detention in your future,” Scott said.

Stiles’ nightmares were a lot worse, but he just said, “Me, too.”

The feeling didn’t last. By the time the school day was over Stiles felt like an open nerve. None of the relaxation techniques were working anymore. Scott kept shooting Stiles worried looks. And he still had to get through lacrosse practice.

Stiles sat on the bench in the locker room with his head lowered to hide his yellow eyes, his hands clenched between his knees to hide his claws. Scott touched his shoulder, and it took all the self-control Stiles had left to keep from snapping at the hand with his fangs.

“You alright?” Scott said.

“Yeah,” Stiles lied. “I just need a minute before I go out there.”

“Okay,” Scott said, sounding concerned for Stiles, and a little bit hurt that Stiles needed space even from him.

Stiles waited a few moments to make sure he was really alone. His own heartbeat and rasping breaths were too loud in his own ears for that sense to do him any good right now. Scent wasn’t much better, with the smell of sweaty boys overpowering everything else.

Stiles moved to the back of the locker room just in case someone had forgotten something and returned unexpectedly. He stared at himself in the mirror above the sink in the bathroom. He’d seen Laura change to the half-wolf-half-human form when she’d been explaining the change to him. He’d also seen her in the sleek black full wolf form that she was able to take on as the Alpha. She’d been beautiful to Stiles in either form.

Stiles had never seen his own wolfed out form before. He’d changed during some of the training sessions, when Laura had forced it out of him, but there hadn’t been a mirror handy at those times. When he _had_ been in front of a mirror he’d only been able to change his eyes and drop his fangs. He took the opportunity now to study his reflection in the mirror, noting the extra facial hair (it was like “Sideburns Gone Wild”, he thought), and the more prominent nose and forehead. He briefly wondered if he’d be considered attractive to other werewolves, and then wondered where that thought had come from.

Stiles felt himself growing even angrier, which was odd because he was alone. It was as if he didn’t need a reason, as if the wolf form intensified the feelings of anger that were spiraling out of control inside him. Stiles struck out and punched the wall beside the mirror. Tile cracked and fell to the floor. The skin across his knuckles split and bled. Stiles watched as the broken skin knitted back together.

When Stiles looked back into the mirror the wolf had receded. That small act of violence and the resulting sensation of pain had been enough to bleed off some of the unnatural rage he felt. Stiles washed the blood off his already healed hand, and then grabbed his stick on the way out to the field. The team was already lined up for drills when Stiles got there.

“Stilinski!” Coach Finstock yelled. “Give me an extra lap!”

“Yeah, Coach,” Stiles said, dropping his stick beside the bench and starting the warm-up lap (now laps). It felt good to run, to expend the energy building up inside him. He had to be careful, though, not to go too fast. When he finished the laps Stiles joined in the drills. After some practice runs on the goal, they ran the same drill with a defender in front of the goal, and then were broken up into teams for drills that simulated game-like situations.

Everything was going fine until Jackson decided to play rough and chose Stiles as his victim. Jackson had the ball, which put Stiles on defense. Stiles stepped towards Jackson to force him to veer off around him. Instead, Jackson kept coming. He planted a shoulder in Stiles’ chest and Stiles slammed to the ground. The whistle blew and Scott’s face appeared in Stiles’ line of vision.

“Dude! Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Stiles groaned as bruised muscles healed. “Just need to catch my breath.”

Stiles let Scott help him up. He assured Coach Finstock that he was alright, and then lined back up at his position. He ignored the Coach’s slap on the back and comment about playing through the pain to ponder over just how much pain he was going to inflict on Jackson. The smug smirk on Jackson’s face when he looked at Stiles only meant that Stiles was going to enjoy wiping it off even more.

The whistle blew and the play began. A smile curved Stiles’ lips. It wasn’t a very nice smile. His eyes flashed yellow and he reveled in the power he held. Jackson thought he was an easy mark. The old Stiles might have been, but he wasn’t any longer. Jackson, on the other hand, was a cowardly bitch to pick on someone he thought was smaller and weaker than himself. Stiles was about to prove to him what a bad idea that had been.

Stiles ducked his head to hide his eyes and waited, anticipating the sound of bone breaking. Jackson came at him again, but this time Stiles was ready for him. Just before impact Stiles heard the low growl of his name. Stiles felt a stab of annoyance that Derek had shown up, presuming that Stiles would need his help. At the same time he felt a surge of relief that Derek had come to him and was taking some of the weight of controlling himself off his shoulders.

At the last minute Stiles pulled his punch, so to speak, and the blow he delivered to Jackson was much lighter than it would’ve been if Derek hadn’t been there to call him off. Still, it knocked Jackson on his ass. This time it was Stiles who stood smirking over Jackson. Unfortunately, Jackson was rolling around in pain and not looking at Stiles, so the effect was somewhat lessened.

“Get over here!” Derek growled for Stiles’ ears only.

Stiles knew that Jackson would be down for a couple of minutes at least and he wouldn’t be missed, so he left the others gathered around Jackson and removed his helmet as he jogged over to the sidelines where Derek stood glowering at him.

“You call this being careful?”

“He deserved it,” Stiles said petulantly before he could stop himself.

“Maybe, but you know why you can’t be the one to give him what he deserves. Why aren’t you doing the exercises we practiced last night?”

“They’re not working anymore,” Stiles whined. “I can control it.” Stiles flexed his fingers inside his glove. “I just need to let off a little steam.”

“Not where people can see,” Derek said equably. “Come here.”

Derek grabbed Stiles by the back of his neck and pulled his head forward until his face was pressed to Derek’s throat. Stiles struggled against the hold until he breathed in Derek’s scent. His knees went weak and he practically fell into Derek so he could breathe in more of him. Stiles struggled a little bit when Derek dragged him away, trying to get back to the scent that said safe and pack and trust.

“Better?”

Stiles nodded his head without looking at Derek. It _was_ better. The anger he felt diminished as the wolf rolled over and exposed its belly to be rubbed. Figuratively speaking, thank goodness. Stiles growled low in his throat, annoyed with himself for being so needy.

Derek untied a handkerchief from around his neck and retied it around Stiles’, tucking the corner into his jersey. Stiles wanted to protest, but Derek’s scent on the material was already having a steadying influence on his senses, so he didn’t.

“Now get back out there, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Great pep talk,” Stiles said. “Did you practice that?”

Stiles turned to run back out onto the field just as Coach Finstock yelled for him. “Stilinski! Get your ass back on the field! You were already late because you had to primp for your boyfriend. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he added with a look at Danny. “But you do know what there is something wrong with? Holding up practice!”

“Sorry, Coach,” Stiles said as he pulled his helmet back on and took his place.

Scott glanced meaningfully at the handkerchief around Stiles’ neck, and then grinned at him. Stiles wanted to rip off the kerchief, but instead lowered his face so he could get a better smell of it.

~*~

“Is that a token?” Scott said as they walked back to the locker room, trying very hard to keep a straight face. “You know, like the ladies of yore used to give to knights going into battle. I think you’re supposed to wear it around your arm, though.”

“Are you done?” Stiles said, surreptitiously pressing the handkerchief to his nose.

Not so surreptitiously, going by Scott’s reaction. “Are you sniffing that?”

“No. Are you calling Derek a girl? He’s gonna know,” Stiles said meanly, even if he couldn’t share just how Derek would know.

“How? You gonna be the one to tell him?” Scott mocked.

Stiles snorted. “I value my life too much for that. He’s just got a sixth sense for things like this.”

“Well, just to set the record straight,” Scott said. “I’m not calling Derek a girl. And even if he was a girl, I wouldn’t call him a lady.”

Stiles snorted and they both started laughing. The fact that Stiles knew Derek could hear them (if he was paying any attention, which Stiles suspected he was just to keep Stiles from wolfing out and killing everyone) only made him feel even more giddy, which meant he laughed even harder.

When he wound down Stiles said, “Somehow, I think that seemed funnier than it really was.”

Scott snorted a little laugh and agreed, “Yeah.”

Scott threw his cleats into his duffel bag and zipped it up. “You coming?”

“Actually, I’m going to take a shower before I leave.” Stiles was sweaty from practice and the Hale house didn’t have running water. “Can I ask you another favor?”

“Sure, what?”

“If anyone asks, will you say I went to the party with you and spent the night at your house?”

“You’re not going to the party?” Scott said, sounding shocked.

“No, I . . . .” Stiles sighed in resignation. “I’m going to Derek’s.”

“Was that so hard?” Scott teased, then, “Wait, you’re spending the _entire night_ with Derek?”

“Would it do any good to say that it’s really not like that?” Stiles said.

“Nah, don’t bother,” Scott replied.

“Because it’s _really_ not like that.”

“Okay,” Scott said agreeably. “Just be careful. And make sure you use protection.”

“Oh my god!” Stiles said, horrified. “Really. Not like that.”

“Whatever you say. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Scott said as he gathered his stuff together.

“Have fun tonight,” Stiles said, even though Scott was being such a pain in his ass.

Scott’s smile when he thought about Allison was like rainbows and puppies. “I will,” he said. Scott waggled his eyebrows at Stiles. “You, too.”

Stiles shook his head. “Really. Not. Like that.”

Stiles got out of his practice gear and went to the showers. He took a quick shower because he didn’t know how long this period of calm lucidity would last. He’d left the handkerchief in his locker, but Stiles’ senses reached out for it in an attempt to remain calm as long as he could. As he stepped out of the showers his instincts kicked in and his senses took on a razor sharp focus.

Stiles reached out and caught the fist that was flying towards his face with ease. Jackson’s face showed his surprise, which angered Stiles even more than the attempt to land the blow. He squeezed, enjoying the expressions of pain and confusion that crossed Jackson’s features, and the way the bones ground together beneath his grip. Stiles released Jackson and shoved him back, suddenly disgusted with himself more than with Jackson. He didn’t want to be ruled by the moon’s pull on his emotions. He extended his senses until Derek’s scent filled his nostrils.

“How did you do that?” Jackson said as he cradled his hand against his chest.

“I’ve been working out,” Stiles said. It wasn’t a complete lie. “You should stop being such a douchebag because you never know when the person you’re picking on will grow teeth and rip out your throat.” Stiles smiled, pulling his lips back to reveal his own teeth. He didn’t think he could pull it off like Derek did, but it seemed to freak Jackson out if only because of the weirdness of it.

Jackson left, probably needing to soothe his injured pride as much as his hand, and Stiles wasn’t bothered again. He dressed and packed his bag, and headed out to Betty. If he had Derek’s handkerchief shoved into the front pocket of his jeans, no one had to know but him.

Except he found Derek leaning against the side of his Jeep. Stiles’ hand reflexively (and guiltily) touched the pocket before he could stop himself. Derek’s eyes followed the motion, but he didn’t say anything.

“What are you still doing here?” Stiles said.

“Waiting for you.”

“Why?”

Derek didn’t answer.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Stiles said.

“How’s Jackson?” Derek said as he climbed into the passenger seat and waited.

Stiles rolled his eyes. He dumped his stuff into the backseat and slid behind the wheel. If he took a deep breath of the scent filling the interior of his Jeep before turning the key in the ignition, he was keeping it to himself.

The drive out to the Hale house was made in silence. Not that Stiles expected anything else with Derek. He thought it should be awkward, but it wasn’t. Aside from the bugs crawling under his skin that made him want to scratch it off, but Stiles was pretty sure that didn’t have anything to do with Derek. Derek noticed Stiles fidgeting in his seat. He reached out and touched Stiles’ leg and Stiles felt the weird itch fade to a bearable prickle.

“I’m fine,” Stiles said, even as he pushed his leg into Derek’s hand.

Stiles went through a drive-thru and ordered enough food for two. Even if Derek didn’t eat any, Stiles could manage to put a dent in it all by himself. As the food was handed to him through the window, Stiles passed it over to Derek. He tried not to smile at the image Derek made, sitting there balancing two bags of food and a cardboard tray of drinks on his lap. Some of his amusement must have gotten through despite his best efforts because Derek glared at him, a menacing growl rumbling deep in his throat.

“I’ve got to say,” Stiles said. “You’ve looked scarier. Hey! Could you dig me out some fries?” he added, chuckling when the growl escaped Derek’s throat.

They ate on the porch, bags laid out to serve as place mats. Stiles stuffed his face with two burgers, a large fry, a Coke, and a milkshake (“I’m a growing boy,” he responded to Derek’s look of awe, he decided, rather than disgust. “I’m pretty sure my dad thinks I have a tape worm.”) until his belly felt like it was going to burst.

“I’m so full,” Stiles groaned as he lay back onto the porch, uncaring of what he might be lying in. “Maybe I’ll just fall into a food coma and sleep through the full moon,” he suggested hopefully.

“Good luck with that,” Derek said.

“What? It could happen!” Stiles insisted.

“Later on you’ll be glad you ate now, though,” Derek observed.

“Why?”

“If you’re still full, it’s possible that you’ll be less tempted to eat after the change.”

“Possible?” Stiles squeaked. “What would I eat?”

“Whatever you could catch,” Derek said as if it was no big deal.

Stiles sat up slowly. “Like . . . bunny rabbits?”

“Just like.”

“But. They’re so tiny. And fuzzy. And _cute_ ,” Stiles said.

Derek shrugged. “They taste good. More importantly, they run. You’ll be compelled to give chase.”

Stiles ignored his impending bunny feast to concentrate on Derek. “ _You’ve_ eaten bunny! I knew there was a very good reason, aside from your glower-y eyes and disgusting six pack, of which I am not jealous at all, by the way . . . . Where was I going with this?” Stiles stopped to ask, confused.

“You knew there was a very good reason . . . ,” Derek prompted.

“Oh, yeah! Thanks. That I didn’t like you!” Stiles finished triumphantly.

“Well,” Derek said as he gathered up the wrappers. “You’re going to hate yourself in the morning then.”

Stiles pointed at Derek. “This is not a fait accompli!”

Derek’s eyebrows said, “Big words for a future eater of helpless bunnies.”

Stiles hated Derek’s eyebrows. “I hate your eyebrows.”

Derek’s eyebrows didn’t care.

“So, what are we going to do now?” Stiles said. There was a lot of time to kill before the moon rose to its full strength, and he didn’t want to have time to think about what was going to happen then. “Tiddlywinks? Monopoly?”

Derek’s smile was really kind of evil. After doing more push ups, and pull ups, and sit ups than he could count, Stiles was rethinking everything he’d just eaten.

“I think I’m going to barf,” Stiles groaned.

His only consolation was that Derek was doing all the same exercises with him. It wasn’t much of a consolation, though, because Derek wasn’t even breathing hard, and he looked way better all sweaty than Stiles ever would.

“On your feet,” Derek said.

Stiles struggled to his feet. “Shouldn’t we take a nap before the big night so we can be at our best?”

“I don’t want you at your best,” Derek said. “Come on.”

Derek took off at a jog. Stiles rolled his eyes, but followed him. They ran through the woods until Stiles was so sick of trees. He kept tripping over things unseen until Derek snarled, “Use your sight!”

“Ohhhh,” Stiles said when everything came into better focus. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“I don’t know,” Derek growled. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because I’m apparently the worst werewolf _ever_ ,” Stiles said. “I forget I have cool super senses and I don’t want to eat bunny.”

They ended the run at the creek. Stiles bent over, hands on his knees to hold him up, and gasped for air. Derek just stood there and stared at him.

“I think I’m gonna throw up my lungs. My lungs are so not happy with me right now they are going to just leap out of my throat. Jesus, are you even sweating?”

Derek rolled his eyes at Stiles’ theatrics as he pulled his t-shirt off over his head and used it to wipe the (barely there) sweat off his chest and shoulders. Stiles couldn’t help noticing, and not for the first time, his brain helpfully supplied, that Derek was really ripped.

“Life is so unfair,” Stiles bemoaned. At Derek’s raised eyebrow he went on. “Why don’t I look like that? Is it because you were born a werewolf?”

“It’s because I work out,” Derek said, sounding as if he wanted to add ‘you idiot’ to that.

“Oh. So if I work out . . . ?”

Derek’s eyes ran over Stiles’ body in a less than complimentary way.

“Oh, fuck you,” Stiles said, but without much heat because he didn’t have the energy for it.

Derek stepped closer to the creek. He squatted down and dunked his shirt into the water, then wiped the cool material over his face and neck, and then down his chest.

“Come over here and cool off,” Derek said.

That sounded like a really good idea. Stiles squatted beside Derek and cupped water into his hand to splash over his head and face, letting it run down his neck and soak the material of his t-shirt. He’d have loved to wipe down his chest the way Derek had, but there was no way he was going to remove his shirt. Not with Derek’s chest right there on display, _judging_ him.

Stiles went to stand up. Instead he slipped and fell into the creek. It wasn’t deep, but it was cold. “Oh my god!” Stiles shivered.

The corners of Derek’s lips twitched.

“You think this is funny?” Stiles said. “” _This_ is what makes you crack a smile? What are you, twelve?”

“I’m the one who didn’t fall into the creek,” Derek said from a safe distance away. “I’ll meet you back at the house.”

Stiles gaped at Derek’s back as he really actually turned and walked away. “Are you seriously not going to help me out of here?” Stiles sputtered at Derek’s disappearing back. He got himself out of the creek – at least he was cooled off now – and squelched after Derek.

Derek was waiting for Stiles on the porch when he reached the house. “I hate you,” Stiles said as he removed his sneakers and poured water out of them.

Derek pushed a duffel bag towards Stiles. “I got your bag out of the Jeep for you.”

“I was wrong,” Stiles said as he dug through the bag for a change of clothes. “I love you.”

Dressed in dry clothes and huddled inside his hoodie Stiles sat on the step beside Derek and watched darkness fall around them. “Should we be out there?” he asked, indicating the night, the woods.

“No,” Derek said. “They’ll be out there.”

Hunters, Stiles knew without any further clarification on Derek’s part. Stiles shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cool night air.

“Are you going to have to lock me up?” Stiles asked. He’d thought about it, when he didn’t know where Laura was, when he thought he might be alone. He didn’t like the idea of being caged like an animal, but he liked even less the idea that he might hurt someone.

“Probably not,” Derek said.

“ _Probably_ not? Because you don’t think I’m going to go crazy and kill anyone?” Stiles said hopefully.

“Because I’m stronger than you and I can kick your ass,” Derek said.

“That’s . . . comforting, actually.”

Thirty minutes later Stiles was pacing in front of the house. The itch was back, and worse than ever.

“Take your sweatshirt off,” Derek said.

Stiles gave Derek the side eye as he passed him. “I really don’t think this is the time for that.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Take it off before it gets ruined.”

“Oh. Am I gonna get all big and muscle-y like The Incredible Hulk?” Stiles said excitedly as he removed the hoodie.

“You’re gonna get thrown around. A lot.”

“So, same old, same old?” Stiles said as he draped the hoodie over the porch railing.

Stiles went back to pacing. He cracked his knuckles, his neck. His eyes changed. Stiles left them – they were the least dangerous thing about the change, and besides, he didn’t want to shut them down. He could see _everything_. His fangs dropped, and then his claws extended. “Why isn’t it affecting you?” Stiles snarled around his fangs.

“It is,” Derek said, his eyes flashing blue.

“Then why aren’t you all . . . ?” Stiles waved his clawed hands around.

“Because I can control it,” Derek said.

“But you still feel it?” Stiles said, needing the assurance.

“Yes,” Derek gritted out.

“Will I be able to control it?” Stiles asked.

“One day, yes.”

But that day wasn’t today.

Stiles fell to his knees as the change came over him. He fought it, at first. Fought the change. Fought the anger rising within himself with the rising of the moon. But then he couldn’t remember why he even wanted to. Stiles stood up and tipped his head back and howled at the moon. He turned to lope off into the woods in search of prey, but he was tackled to the ground before he’d taken one step.

Stiles growled and tried to rise up, throw the weight off his back. A growl against the back of his neck, and the feel of teeth on his skin, made Stiles cease his struggles. He recognized Derek’s scent, identified him as pack and elder, and part of him wanted to submit. Another part wanted to dig his claws and fangs in and _tear_. To hear the screams of pain, to smell the blood.

“I’m going to let you up now,” Derek said.

Stiles didn’t wait until Derek was on his feet. The moment Derek eased the weight off his back Stiles moved. He rolled and kicked out. Instead of sinking into flesh, his foot was caught in a tight grip. The next thing Stiles knew, he was being flung through the air. His ankle had been twisted in the maneuver, but it healed before Stiles regained his feet.

Stiles still felt the need to run howling through the woods, searching out prey, but he didn’t need to go any further than right here for the fight he needed. By the time Stiles was on his feet, Derek had shifted. Part of Stiles wanted to stop and look – he’d seen Derek’s blue eyes and the fangs before, but he’d never seen a full on shift. The greater part wanted to claw at that face and make it bleed. Stiles charged. Derek smiled – if a mouth full of fangs could be said to smile – and he caught Stiles and flung him through the air again.

Stiles leapt back to his feet and charged again. Once more he ended up on his back, staring up at the moon that was responsible for all of this. This time Stiles moved more slowly, and he and Derek circled each other before the next attack. For the first time Stiles wondered if he might be out of his depths because, despite the control he had, Derek wanted the fight as much as Stiles did.

Stiles, however, wasn’t one to back down, even when the odds were stacked against him. Once more unto the breach, he thought, and attacked again.

~*~

It took Stiles a while to figure out where he was when he woke up the next morning. It wasn’t his bed, and it wasn’t Scott’s. In fact, it wasn’t even a bed, just a mattress on the floor. The scent of charred wood filled his nostrils, and then the scent of Derek, which was apparently a scent that had become so common and comfortable that it didn’t raise any alarms in Stiles’ brain, which Stiles thought should be alarming.

Once he recognized Derek’s scent, Stiles realized that Derek wasn’t merely in the same house (word loosely applied) or room, but in the same bed! And not just the same bed, but cuddled right up to Stiles’ back with his arm thrown over Stiles’ waist.

“Go back to sleep,” Derek growled before Stiles could work up to a full blown freak out. It was much like Derek’s usual growl, except softened a little bit by sleep. It was kind of cute, and it made Stiles want to pet him and cuddle him like a soft, fuzzy . . . .

“Oh my god! Please tell me I didn’t eat a bunny last night!”

“Stiles,” Derek growled grumpily.

Stiles twisted and squirmed until he’d turned around so he could face Derek. “I didn’t, did I?” he said. “I mean, they’re so cute, with their twitchy little noses, and their bushy little tails. I don’t think I could bear it if I knew I’d eaten one.”

“Then why are you asking?”

“Because I have to _know_!” Stiles wailed, emphasizing his point by pounding his fist against Derek’s chest. Derek’s naked chest. “Hey,” Stiles said, suddenly worried about something entirely different. “Why is your shirt off?” He looked down at himself. “Why is _my_ shirt off?”

“Because we were sleeping?” Derek said, half plaintive, half growl. “Which we are going to do again.” He grabbed the back of Stiles’ head and smooshed Stiles’ face into his neck.

Stiles started to pull away so he could argue some more, but then he realized that he didn’t really want to. He was being seduced by Derek’s scent, and his warmth. It wasn’t as if he and his dad didn’t hug, but he hadn’t cuddled with anyone since his mom died. Except Scott, who claimed he was too old for cuddles now. Unless they were watching a scary movie, which was an exception to the too-old-for-cuddles rule.

Laura hadn’t even cuddled with him. There’d been a lot of touching (though none of the naughty kind), like a rub of her hand over his shoulder, a squeeze of his neck. A lot of touching, actually, now that he thought back on it. When she praised him for something done well, when she explained a concept to him, to say hello and goodbye. Stiles wondered if she’d been working him up to the cuddling.

Without realizing it, while he’d been lost in thought, Stiles had let himself sprawl out over Derek. “Is this weird?” he said as he pressed his nose to Derek’s neck.

“Not for us.”

“Do you mean us, you and me, or us, werewolves?” Stiles asked.

“Stiles,” Derek growled.

“Sleeping now.”

~*~*~*~

When Stiles woke he was alone on the mattress. He didn’t _feel_ alone, though, because Derek’s scent was all over everything. Stiles buried his face in the pillow and just breathed in the mixed scent of both of them. He only roused when another scent made itself known – blood.

Stiles quickly sat up and looked down in alarm at the streaks and smears of blood on his hands and arms. It took him a moment to calm down enough to realize that the blood was dried, and the wounds that had resulted in said blood were completely healed. Another moment of studying his arms, concentrating on the smell of the blood, and he became aware that not all of the blood was his. Some of it belonged to Derek.

Despite the fact that Derek had seemed fine last night when they were in bed (Stiles tried not to think about the snuggling), Stiles was immediately flooded with concern and the strong urge to see Derek, to make sure he was alright. He pushed back the blanket and noticed that he didn’t have any pants on. Stiles was glad he hadn’t realized that last night when he’d had a slight freak out about the lack of shirts.

A bucket of water and a folded pile of clothes were set beside the mattress. There was no soap, and only a thin wash cloth, but Stiles avidly used it to wash his face and then wipe off the blood from his skin. Despite having been pulled from the creek and sitting in the bucket for Stiles didn’t know how long, the water was as cold as he remembered it being the night before.

Halfway down the stairs another scent assaulted his nostrils – food. Stiles leap the remaining steps (nailing the landing – that was his story and he was sticking to it) and ran out the front door onto the porch. The Camaro was parked next to Betty and Derek strode across the lawn with bags of food and a cardboard drink tray holding juice and milk. He tossed one of the bags to Stiles, who caught it and eagerly ripped into it. He happily breathed in the scent of greasy breakfast sandwiches and hash browns before reaching into the bag and grabbing one of the sandwiches.

Stiles dropped to the top step as he unwrapped the sandwich. He took a big bite and watched as Derek joined him, setting down the tray of drinks and getting out his own sandwich. “I told you I love you, right?”

Derek raised an eyebrow as he bit into his wrap. “Well, you can be bought for food, so . . . .”

“True.” Stiles ate three sandwiches, barely pausing to breathe. He ate his hash browns and then eyed up Derek’s, who’d smartly set his bag on the other side of himself. Stiles would be taking his life into his own hands if he made an attempt for it, but it might be worth it. Derek’s eyes flashed a blue warning and Stiles innocently reached for the milk instead.

After the food was gone (Stiles had licked his finger to get up all the crumbs, but had drawn the line at actually licking the wrappers when Derek gave him a look) and the detritus bagged up, Stiles said, “So, no bunnies last night, right? I mean, I didn’t have any fur in my teeth this morning, so . . . .”

“Why would you have fur in your teeth?”

“You know, if I . . . .” Stiles mimed snatching up a helpless bunny and tearing into it with his fangs.

“Why am I even surprised that you’d be a messy eater?” Derek said.

“Why am I even surprised that you’re not answering my question?” Stiles retorted.

“No,” Derek said. “You didn’t eat any bunnies last night.”

Stiles wanted to smile at the way the word bunnies sounded coming out of Derek’s mouth, but he bit it back. “Because I’m one with the wolf and had enough self-control to not eat a helpless, not to mention cute, little woodland creature?”

“Because I didn’t let you get off the lawn when you tried to chase after every little woodland creature you saw, cute or not,” Derek said.

“Oh. So,” Stiles said, picking at a thread on his jeans. “Why can’t I remember much about last night?”

There were bits and pieces of memories floating around in his brain, but for the most part last night was a big blank.

“Because the wolf was in control,” Derek said. “As you gain control over the change you’ll remember more of what happens when you’re in full wolf form.”

“I’ll be in control, so I’ll be more me?”

Derek shrugged, then nodded.

“Okay, so, but you remember, right? Because you kept control. Right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so tell me this. Why were my pants off?”

Derek raised his eyebrows at the unexpected question. “Do you usually sleep in your pants?”

“Well, no, but . . . .”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t usually sleep with . . . .” Stiles indicated Derek and all his manliness.

“You can’t tell me you and Scott never had a sleep over,” Derek said.

“No, we did, but . . . pajamas!”

Derek didn’t bother to reply to that.

“Okay, so, nothing happened, then? I mean . . . .” Stiles gestured between the two of them.

“Are you asking me if I took advantage of you while you were under the influence of the moon?” Derek said.

“No!” Stiles said. “Yes? Maybe. I don’t know. I just . . . it feels weird to have a whole block of time when I know something happened and I can’t remember any of it. I feel like I got drunk, only without the hangover and embarrassing photos. I mean, maybe _I_ did something inappropriate last night.”

“No one did anything inappropriate last night,” Derek said. “But who said there were no photos?”

“Oh my god!” Stiles said. “You took pictures?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Of course I didn’t take pictures. Because I’m not stupid enough to leave evidence that werewolves exist just lying around.”

“Oh, right,” Stiles said. “Because that would be bad. They wouldn’t believe it was just a really great Halloween costume, would they?” Stiles asked.

“Scott might,” Derek allowed.

Stiles snorted. “It’s almost as if you know him. Hey, can I show . . . ? No, of course not, because that would be stupid,” he backtracked at Derek’s glare.

“Speaking of not remembering,” Stiles changed the subject without any care for finesse. “I had a lot of blood on me this morning. Some of it was yours.”

Derek just watched him without speaking.

“Did I hurt you last night?”

Derek raised an eyebrow.

“Hey!” Stiles said. “It could happen. It’s possible that I hit you. Accidentally, while tripping over my own two feet, but possible.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” Derek said.

“There was _blood_ ,” Stiles said.

“You didn’t hurt me badly,” Derek clarified. “I healed, it doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it _matters_ , Derek!” Stiles said. “I mean, sure, you can be irritating, but I wouldn’t want to . . . . And if I did mange to, I’d like to remember it, at least,” he added.

“Your logic defies understanding,” Derek commented. “Look, I know you wouldn’t hurt me. Unless I’ve been especially irritating,” he added when Stiles opened his mouth to speak. “What happened last night wasn’t your fault. And you _will_ gain control.”

“That . . . was actually a pretty good pep talk,” Stiles said. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Derek glared at him. Stiles grinned. Derek swatted the back of Stiles’ head.

“Ow, hey, uncalled for!” Stiles said.

Derek’s eyebrows disagreed. Derek stood and carried their trash over to a makeshift garbage can.

“You have a trash can, but no chairs,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “Next time I come out I’m bringing a chair. Or at least a pillow. And a broom, because this place could use a good sweeping out. And paint. And maybe a demolition crew . . . . Ow!” Stiles said when a tennis ball bounced off his head.

“You’re not paying attention,” Derek said.

“Don’t I get a day off? I had a rough . . . ow . . . night last night. I think the day after a full moon should be . . . ow, okay!” Stiles rolled off the porch and tried to hide beside the steps. It wasn’t a very good hiding place, especially since Derek had a whole bag of tennis balls at his disposal, as Stiles had learned the other day.

Stiles ran out into the yard and got wacked between his shoulder blades. He took a few more hits, but it was worth it when he ended up with an armful of tennis balls by the time Derek had expended his supply. Stiles gave an evil cackle – it totally sounded evil no matter what Derek said later – and started throwing balls back at Derek.

Derek didn’t just stand there and merely try to avoid the missiles. He charged Stiles, who may or may not have screamed like a girl as he threw the balls faster in an attempt to slow Derek down and keep him from smashing into Stiles and flattening him like a pancake. Stiles started running when he still had some balls left, the fight or flight response telling him to run like hell.

Stiles darted behind the Camaro and said menacingly (well, as menacingly as he could), “Back off, or the Camaro gets it.”

Derek actually did slow down. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Why’s that?” Stiles asked, holding up a ball threateningly.

“Because I would kill you. Slowly.”

“Empty threats,” Stiles said blithely.

Derek held up his hand and Stiles watched in fascination as his claws extended. “Can you really afford new tires for the Jeep?”

“Uhm . . . no?”

“Stalemate?”

“Stalemate,” Stiles agreed as he flung the ball at Derek and made a run for the house. He didn’t even get halfway before he ran into the brick wall of Derek’s chest, bounced off, and landed on his back on the ground. He ineffectively threw a ball up at Derek. Derek caught it before it hit and then just opened his hand and let it drop to the ground.

A little thrill of fear twisted Stiles’ gut and shot up his spine. He gave a nervous laugh and rolled to his stomach to try and crawl away. Derek grabbed his ankle and held on with little effort, so all Stiles managed to do was dig furrows in the dirt with his claws in his futile attempt to escape. Derek tired of toying with him. He dragged Stiles back and then dropped to the ground, knees to either side of Stiles’ hips, pinning Stiles with his weight.

“Derek?” Stiles said breathlessly, an excited terror filling him. “What are you doing?”

Stiles felt Derek’s fingers at his sides and he braced himself for the feel of claws breaking the skin. Instead Derek dug human fingers into his sides. Stiles squealed as Derek tickled him. He redoubled his efforts to get away. Stiles was stymied by the need to try and twist away from Derek’s fingers, though.

“Derek, stop, please, oh my god, stop, I’m begging you!”

Derek finally took mercy on him and released Stiles. He fell off to the side and watched Stiles try to catch his breath. Stiles rolled to his back and stared up at the clouds. “I can’t believe you . . . tickled me!” he gasped. “That seems, I don’t know, not very werewolf-ly behavior. You know, all, ‘grrr!’.” He curled his fingers and fake growled. “It seems more like . . . puppies,” Stiles said.

Derek didn’t say anything. He didn’t move. Stiles wasn’t even sure he was breathing.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Stiles said, not sure what he’d been right about. He ran his word vomit back through his brain and tried to determine what he’d said that would annoy Derek the most. Or embarrass him, Stiles thought when he realized what it might be. “Puppies,” Stiles mused. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re just like this overgrown puppy right now, aren’t you?”

Derek growled, but Stiles wasn’t fazed by it.

“Post-full moon puppy cuteness. Want me to come over there and rub your ears?”

Okay, that might have been going a little bit too far, Stiles thought as Derek pounced on him. Like a puppy, he couldn’t help making the mental comparison.

They rolled around the lawn, wrestling. Stiles actually got the upper hand a few times, though he was convinced it was only because Derek let him. Stiles was laughing when Derek finally pinned him, and he was pretty sure he’d seen Derek crack a smile or two, as well. Stiles tucked his nose into Derek’s neck and breathed him in. Derek let him.

“Uh, am I interrupting something?”

Stiles’ eyes shot open to see Scott standing a couple feet away from where they lay, staring down at them. He pictured what they must look like, Derek lying on top of him, his wrists pinned to the ground, his face pressed to Derek’s throat.

“And once again,” Stiles said, dropping his head to the ground. “This is not what it looks like.” He couldn’t blame Scott for looking skeptical. “Why didn’t you hear him coming?” Stiles growled low into Derek’s neck.

Derek smirked down at him. “Who says I didn’t?”

Stiles’ eyes were wide as he watched Derek climb off of him.

“Hi, Scott,” Derek said, sounding like a real person, greeting Scott as if he came out to the Hale house with Stiles all the time.

“Hi,” Scott replied, sounding almost tentative.

“So,” Stiles said as he sat up, trying to play off the fact that he’d just been lying beneath Derek Hale, sniffing at his neck. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been calling you all morning,” Scott said. “You weren’t answering your phone!” He cast a furtive glance towards Derek’s back. “I was worried.”

Stiles wasn’t touching that one with a ten foot pole. All he said was, “I’m fine. What time is it, anyway?”

“It’s after noon, dude, it’s almost two!” Scott said after a glance at his watch.

“Holy crap!” Stiles said, propelled off his ass by the news. “I left my phone in the Jeep. Did my dad call?”

“Once,” Scott said. “I told him you were still asleep.”

“Thank you!” Stiles said fervently. He dashed over to Betty and got his phone out of the glove box. Derek had warned him to lock it up so it didn’t get smashed. He was glad now that he’d listened and taken the precaution. There were half a dozen texts from Scott, each message more worried than the one before, and a voice mail from his dad. Stiles listened to the message, then called his dad back.

His dad was already at the station for his weekly attempt at getting his paperwork done, but he answered his cell anyway when he saw Stiles’ name on the display. He always did. Even if he was in the middle of a meeting or standing at a crime scene, he’d at least answer the call long enough to tell Stiles that he’d have to call him back. And to remind Stiles that he loved him. And to get off the computer with Scott and do his homework.

“Stiles,” his dad said.

“Hey, Dad.” Stiles winced. “Sorry I didn’t call you back earlier.”

“Are you just getting up?”

“No!” Stiles said, but his dad went on as if he hadn’t spoken.

“Just how late did you boys stay up playing video games, anyway?”

“Not very late?” Stiles said. “We got something to eat when we woke up and I lost track of time.”

“Okay,” his dad said. “Well, I’m glad you called now. Did you have fun at the party last night?”

“Yeah, it was alright, I guess,” Stiles said. “What did you have for supper?”

“Oh, darn!” his dad said. “I just got a call. I’m going to have to cut this conversation short, as sorry as I am about that.”

“Don’t think I’m not on to you,” Stiles said. “I’m checking the refrigerator when I get home. In fact, I’m leaving right now to do that!”

His dad laughed. “I’ve got lights and a siren, and I’d better get there before you do. Hey, will I see you at home before the game tonight?”

“It’s just a scrimmage,” Stiles said, “but yeah.”

“Okay, goodbye, son.”

“Bye, Dad. Be careful,” Stiles added as he always did.

“The only trouble I’m gonna run into today is paper cuts and bad coffee.”

“I can’t believe you just said that!” Stiles said.

“Stiles, there is no such thing as a jinx,” his dad said.

Stiles shuddered. “Oh my god, will you stop it?”

His dad was laughing when he disconnected.

“Can anyone bleed to death from paper cuts?” Stiles asked Scott.

“No? How would I know? You want me to ask my mom?”

“Nah. If he dies it’s his own fault.”

“Who?”

“My dad.”

“Okay?”

“He disrespected the jinx, man,” Stiles said, shaking his head sadly. “No one gets away with that. No one.”

“Oh.”

They were both silent for a moment as they contemplated the Sheriff’s impending, if untimely, demise.

“What are you gonna do now?” Scott said. “Do you have to go home?”

Stiles couldn’t stop himself from glancing towards Derek at the question. “I don’t know.” He’d teased Derek about acting like a puppy earlier, but Stiles had also enjoyed the play, the closeness. It was almost as if they’d needed to reconnect after the full moon. He found himself not quite ready to leave yet.

“What’s he doing?” Scott asked, his gaze following Stiles’.

Derek was retrieving the tennis balls they’d been throwing at one another and putting them back into the bag. He spoke before Stiles had to come up with an answer. “Get out your lacrosse sticks.”

Stiles felt at once both excitement and dread at the command. And a contentment that he didn’t want to examine too closely at the thought that maybe Derek wasn’t quite ready for him to leave, either.

“I didn’t bring my stick,” Scott said, also sounding torn.

“I’ve got an extra,” Stiles told him.

Stiles got the sticks out of Betty and handed one to Scott. They both walked over to where Derek stood waiting for them.

“We’ll start with some easy warm up tosses and work up.”

“Work up to what?” Stiles said suspiciously.

Derek’s smile was all teeth. “Less easy. Now get out there.”

~*~

Hey, Dad,” Stiles said when his dad came into the kitchen.

“Hey, son,” his dad said, sliding his hand over the top of Stiles’ head. “What are you making?”

“Stir fry,” Stiles said as he poked at the vegetables in the pan. Made with the chicken he’d stuck in the refrigerator to thaw yesterday before heading to school, and to be served over the brown rice sitting on the stove.

“Smells good,” his dad said, sniffing over Stiles’ shoulder. “I’m just gonna go wash up.”

“Okay,” Stiles said.

Stiles had their plates on the table and was pouring milk into their glasses when he dad came back. They both sat and picked up their forks. His dad paused and Stiles looked at him expectantly as he shoved his fork into his mouth.

“Thanks. For making dinner.”

“You’re welcome?” Stiles said through the mouthful of food.

His dad shook his head at Stiles and dug in. After a few minutes of slaking his hunger, he slowed down enough to initiate a conversation. “What did you boys do this afternoon?”

Stiles was caught off guard by the question, though upon reflection he probably shouldn’t have been. By the time he answered his dad’s eyebrows had gone up and Stiles ended up looking more guilty than he would have if he’d answered more quickly.

“We went over to Derek’s,” Stiles said, trying for nonchalant, and failing spectacularly.

“Scott, too?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “We had our lacrosse sticks and Derek tossed us a few balls.”

“You didn’t tire yourself out for tonight’s game, did you?”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, because sitting on the bench is so strenuous,” he said, sounding more bitter than he’d meant to. It was almost worse, now that he could’ve been on the field if not for the fact that he had to hide his new abilities.

“Hey,” his dad said. “I know you want to be out there playing, but you’re only a sophomore. You’ve got two more years to grow into your body. If you’re anything like your mother was, you’ll be a great athlete.”

His dad’s pep talk seemed ironic given that the bite had given him enhanced senses and abilities – even if he was still clumsy with them and learning how to use them – but Stiles couldn’t help being moved by his dad’s unsolicited (and sober) mention of his mom. Stiles stared at the table hard as he blinked back tears. “Thanks.”

His dad reached across the table and squeezed his hand, then resumed eating and let Stiles recover his equilibrium. After dinner his dad offered to do clean up duties, so Stiles went up to his room. He’d showered when he arrived home earlier, soaping away any remnants of blood and the prickly feeling of unease at being unable to remember much of what had happened last night, and now changed into his lacrosse uniform. When he clattered downstairs in his cleats his dad was drying his hands on the dishtowel.

“I’ll see you later at the game,” his dad said.

“It’s just a scrimmage,” Stiles reminded him.

“I know. I’ll still see you later.”

“Okay.”

Stiles picked Scott up and they got to the field a few minutes early for warm-ups. They waited on the bench for the others to arrive. Jackson and Danny were the first. They walked over together and Jackson smirked at them.

“You two getting a head start on your bench warming duties?”

Stiles fake laughed and pretended to hold his stomach. “Oh my gosh, you’re so hilarious!”

Danny looked uncomfortable at the jibe, but he didn’t say anything about it. He nudged Jackson in the arm. “Come on, man, let’s do some stretches.”

The rest of the team trickled in and once they were all there Coach Finstock had them do a warm-up lap around the field before they gathered in the middle to stretch. After a few warm-up shots at the goal they put on their pads and returned to the field to run through a few more warm-up drills. After taking a few unnecessary bumps from Jackson, probably in retaliation for making him look bad yesterday, Stiles’d had enough.

The next time Jackson came near him Stiles said, “I wouldn’t get too comfortable in that position, if I were you.”

“Why’s that?” Jackson said, as if nothing Stiles said or did could affect him.

“Because that hit yesterday? Wasn’t a fluke.”

The whistle blew just then, so Stiles ran off the field with the others, leaving Jackson gritting his teeth and having to restrain the urge to pound Stiles into the ground. His frustration was actually more satisfying than the barb had been.

They all gathered around Coach Finstock for some pre-game encouragement along the lines of, “Alright, let’s go out there and kick their asses!” Finstock stuck out his hand and everyone piled their hands on top. Stiles reached into the huddle, his hand on someone else’s wrist, and chanted with them, “Let’s fight, let’s win, let’s fight, let’s win, let’s fight, let’s _win_!”

When he stepped back Stiles was feeling amped up, and he cheered on his team as they took the field. He and Scott stayed standing on the sidelines during the face off, and then moved back to the bench when the opposing team won the ball.

“Is that your way of staying below the radar?” Derek said from right behind Stiles.

Stiles jumped, then reached back to swat at Derek with the back of his hand. He missed. Of course. “Stop _doing_ that!”

Derek’s smile was more of a snarl.

“Besides, Jackson deserved it.”

“Maybe so,” Derek said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, “but we’ve talked about this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles said, then, “I know, alright! I just . . . I get irritated sometimes.”

“You can’t afford to let something as insignificant as ‘irritation’ cost you your life,” Derek said. “Remember, with great power comes great responsibility.”

Stiles turned around. “Did you just . . .?” Derek was gone. “I really hate it when you do that,” Stiles muttered, knowing that Derek would hear him no matter where he’d disappeared to.

Stiles returned his attention to the game. Scott was trying not to look at him.

“What?” Stiles said, resigned.

“I see that Derek’s here.”

“Yes.”

“It was nice of him to come say hi.”

“He wasn’t being nice,” Stiles said before he could stop himself, only realizing after he’d spoken them how the words could be interpreted.

“Mmm hmm,” Scott said.

Stiles stared very hard at the field.

“Oh, hey, your dad’s here,” Scott said a few minutes later.

“Yeah, he said he was coming,” Stiles said, eyes casually searching the opposite sideline for his dad.

“Whoa,” Scott said, actually sitting up straighter.

“What?”

“Your dad’s talking to Derek. Do you think he’s giving him the shotgun talk?”

“The what?” Stiles said.

“You know, the ‘I carry a lethal weapon and I know how to use it, don’t even think about defiling my son’ speech,” Scott said with way more enthusiasm than Stiles thought necessary.

“Defile, really?” Stiles said, trying to keep his voice calm even as he searched the sideline more frantically for his dad. And yep, there he was. Standing right next to Derek. Talking to him as if they were old friends. Luckily his hand wasn’t hovering threateningly above his weapon.

“I’m sure he’s very concerned about your virtue now that you’ve started seeing Mr. Hottie McScaryPants over there.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles groaned. “Will you shut up?”

Scott just laughed at his pain, so Stiles turned the tables on him and said, “Oh, look, Allison’s here.” When Scott got all giddy and turned to look, Stiles added, “And she brought her dad. Now there’s a man who looks serious about protecting his daughter’s virtue.”

Scott paled. Stiles felt bad. But only a little bit.

For the rest of the scrimmage Stiles kept his attention on the game. He was tempted to extend his hearing so he could listen in on his dad and Derek’s conversation, but Stiles wasn’t sure he really wanted to hear what they were saying. Okay, that wasn’t entirely true – he desperately wanted to know what they were saying, especially since he suspected it was about him. Plus, he was naturally curious. He couldn’t help it.

But there were long bouts of silence between conversational gambits and the one time Stiles caught anything, they weren’t talking about Stiles, or Laura, or the murders (which Stiles probably shouldn’t have expected at a public sporting event anyway), but about where Derek could take his Camaro to get it serviced. Really? The local Sheriff and a werewolf get together for a powwow and it’s about car maintenance?

Plus, keeping his hearing extended to listen to a single conversation in a sea of sounds meant that a single noise, like, say, a referee blowing his whistle, could be deafening and leave your ears ringing. Derek gave Stiles a knowing look when he winced. Stiles fought (barely) the urge to stick out his tongue at him.

Because it was a scrimmage rather than an actual game, Scott and Stiles both saw some playing time. They never saw the ball, though, because Jackson was a prickly little bitch who was afraid of being upstaged, but it felt good to run up and down the field and throw a few blocks to help out his teammates. It also felt good to hear his dad’s voice on the sidelines, cheering him on. Stiles thought he could get used to that.

After the scrimmage, which they lost 4-3 (leaving Jackson looking all pissy), the team gathered on the sidelines for the usual, “2, 4, 6, 8, who do we appreciate,” chant, and then lined up to tell the other team, “Good game.” It was a ritual that Stiles didn’t usually feel one way or the other about, but now he could hear Jackson grinding his teeth together as he gritted out each ‘good game’ to his opponents. Despite the loss, Stiles found himself smiling.

Scott’s mom was working and couldn’t afford to take the time off for a scrimmage so Stiles dragged him over to his dad once the team was dismissed. “Good game, boys,” Stiles' dad said.

“We didn’t do anything,” Scott said sadly.

“You will both do great things,” Stiles' dad said. He pulled Stiles in with an arm around his neck and gave him a kiss on the side of his head.

“Dad,” Stiles complained.

“Can’t help it,” his dad said, the words muffled against Stiles’ head. “You look so much like your mom right now.”

It was the second time that day his dad had voluntarily mentioned his mom. Stiles couldn’t deny him the moment, so he just stood there and let his dad hold him, until his dad cleared his throat and stepped back. “Well,” he said, sounding slightly embarrassed. “I’ll see you back at the house. Goodnight, Scott.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Stilinski,” Scott said.

His dad nodded at Derek, then turned to Stiles. “I almost forgot to mention. I invited Derek over for dinner tomorrow. He doesn’t do much cooking, camping out on the Hale property, so he’s been living on fast food. I know how much you hate that.”

“Dinner?” Stiles said to his dad, mouthing, ‘Camping?’ to Derek. “Who’s cooking?”

His dad raised his eyebrows.

“Me? Okay, then. I’ll probably need to go grocery shopping,” Stiles hinted.

“I’ll leave money for you. Oh, and no buying anything you don’t want to share.”

“Like what?” Stiles said, trying to sound innocent.

“Like the ice cream bars you hid at the back of the freezer, behind the pile of frozen vegetables.”

“I _knew_ they were going faster than they should’ve been!” Stiles said, then added at his dad’s expression. “Not that you weren’t welcome to them.”

“Goodnight, everyone,” his dad said again, and this time he didn’t turn back.

“Well, I guess . . . ,” Stiles started to say to Derek, but when he looked for him Derek was already gone. “I really hate it when he does that.”

“So,” Scott said, and Stiles knew what was coming. “Derek’s coming over for dinner tomorrow.”

“It is not what you think,” Stiles said, even though he knew the denial was pretty much useless.

“Oh, I know,” Scott said.

“My dad probably just felt bad because Derek doesn’t really know anyone in Beacon Hills, anymore.”

“Yeah, no, sure, you’re just friends. Absolutely.”

“I hate you,” Stiles said. “And don’t you need to go say hello to Allison, who looks like she’s waiting for you?”

“I’ve never met her dad before,” Scott said worriedly, all teasing gone from his voice.

“Well, no time like the present.” Stiles dragged Scott over to where Allison and her father stood. He was a little bit nervous about being this close to someone that wanted to kill him, but Stiles figured it was better to know his enemy.

“Hi, Allison,” Stiles said.

Allison returned the greeting, but she only had eyes for Scott.

“Um, hello, Mr. Argent,” Stiles went on. “I’m Stiles. And this is my friend Scott.” Stiles nudged Scott.

“Oh, um, hi,” Scott said.

“Hello, Stiles, Scott,” Mr. Argent said.

“Who has a debilitating crush on your daughter.”

“I can see that.”

They both watched Scott and Allison smile at each other and stare into each other’s eyes without speaking. It was nauseating. Stiles shook his head. “It’s sad, really.”

“Yes,” Mr. Argent agreed in his rumbley voice. Stiles couldn’t tell if he was unhappy with Scott himself, or just unhappy that any boy was interested in his daughter. “Was that your father I saw you speaking with on the sidelines?” Mr. Argent asked, almost casually.

“Yep,” Stiles said. “That’s my dad. The Sheriff.” He didn’t think he could emphasize that point clearly enough.

“Was that Derek Hale he was speaking to?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, trying to hide his unease. He’d instigated this conversation, after all. “Do you know him?”

“Only by sight,” Mr. Argent said, giving Stiles a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We haven’t met yet.”

Stiles didn’t like the sound of that. “Okay, well, it’s been a pleasure,” he said. “Scott. Say goodbye, Scott.”

“Goodbye,” Scott said, still staring goofily at Allison.

Mr. Argent rolled his eyes. Stiles felt like joining him, except, well, hunter.

Stiles nudged Scott again. “Oh, goodbye,” Scott said in Mr. Argent’s direction, with a belated, “Sir.”

“Good evening, Stiles, Scott. It was a pleasure to meet you both.”

Stiles shivered as he dragged Scott away. He thought he could feel Mr. Argent’s eyes boring a hole between his shoulder blades, but he refused to look back. Mostly because he didn’t want to know if he was right.

The End of Episode Three


	4. Episode Four: on this road i’m crawling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocking chairs, unwelcome meetings, bunny rabbits, and flower beds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written: September 15, 2012

“What the hell were you thinking?” Derek said.

Stiles didn’t scream, but it was a near thing. “What the _hell_ , Derek?” Stiles hissed in deference to his dad being home. He pushed his bedroom door closed and leaned against it, free hand clutched to his chest as if he could slow his racing heart.

“Answer the question,” Derek growled as he unfolded himself from Stiles’ bed and rose to his feet.

Stiles reached out his hand towards the bed. “Is this going to be a thing now? You showing up and making yourself comfy on my bed?”

Derek growled.

“What. Question?” Stiles said. “I must have missed it while I was having a _heart attack_ after being _scared to death_ in my own room!”

“What. The hell. Were you thinking?” Derek repeated, biting off each word in a manner that made Stiles glad he wasn’t biting off his head.

“I . . . honestly have no idea what you’re talking about,” Stiles said, genuinely confused.

“You’re supposed to stay away from the Argents,” Derek said.

“Oh. That,” Stiles said.

“Yes, that,” Derek said, proving that sarcasm was alive and well in Beacon Hills.

Stiles had removed his cleats downstairs while chatting with his dad about the game and dinner options for tomorrow. Now he tossed them into the corner, trying to buy some time before he had to face Derek’s wrath.

“It’s not like I walked up to him and announced that I was a werewolf,” Stiles said. “And it would’ve looked more suspicious if I avoided them when Scott went over. Besides,” he added, knowing it would get him into more trouble than his irreverent tone would, “I wanted to check him out.”

“You wanted to check him out,” Derek repeated.

“You know, if you keep repeating everything I say, we’re never . . . .”

“And what did you discover?” Derek asked, ignoring Stiles.

“About Mr. Argent?” At Derek’s look Stiles went on, “That he’s scary.”

“Scary?” Derek growled, and it almost looked like he might go right out and kill Mr. Argent just for acting scary in front of Stiles. Which was kind of nice, knowing someone had his back, but also unnecessary.

“Yeah,” Stiles said before Derek could leap out the window. “It was like he smiled? But it didn’t reach his eyes. His eyes were kind of . . . cold? Also? Pretty sure he knows you’re a werewolf.”

“He would,” Derek said shortly.

Stiles watched Derek’s face turn to stone. He knew that Derek was remembering Kate Argent and the fire that had nearly decimated his entire family. And now Laura was gone, killed by this unknown werewolf. Derek was practically alone, except for an uncle who’d been left in a coma by the injuries he’d sustained in the fire.

“Have you seen your Uncle Peter?” Stiles asked.

“What?” Derek said, shaking his head as if he could shake away the bad memories. Stiles knew all to well that you couldn’t.

“Have you been to visit your uncle since you came back?”

“No,” Derek said sharply. He looked at Stiles. “Did Laura go?”

Stiles shrugged. “A few times. Not often. She said it made her feel good to know that he was still alive, still part of her pack. But it also made her feel sad, helpless, so . . . .”

After a few moments of silence, Stiles continued. “Maybe you should go. It might make you feel better,” he suggested.

“To know I put him there?” Derek said. “To know he wouldn’t have gotten hurt if it wasn’t for me?”

The words exploded out of Derek, and then he looked stunned, as if he couldn’t believe he’d said them. He turned towards the window, but Stiles stopped him with a hand on his arm. Derek glared at Stiles’ hand and his first instinct was to remove it. Instead he tightened his fingers in the leather and stepped closer to Derek.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Stiles said.

“You don’t know anything about it,” Derek snarled.

“Only what I’ve been told,” Stiles agreed. “But I know that Laura didn’t blame you.”

Derek looked like he wanted to hit something. Or someone. Some instinct told Stiles that it wouldn’t be him. Still, he took a deep breath before stepping even further into Derek’s personal space. Derek stiffened as Stiles put his other arm around him, and rested his head against Derek’s chest.

“What are you doing?” Derek said stiffly.

“Hugging you,” Stiles said, trying to keep his voice even and matter-of-fact.

“I don’t need a hug,” Derek stated flatly.

“I know,” Stiles said. “But I do.”

It wasn’t even a lie. Thinking about the fire, the senseless deaths, was upsetting, and he hadn’t even been personally involved. He remembered how sad Laura had looked when she’d told him about it, how her voice had cracked when she’d mentioned the children lost. He thought about Derek hiding his pain behind a stony facade, and blaming himself all these years for the horrible deaths of nearly his entire family. Stiles definitely needed a hug, and Derek was going to give it to him, darn it!

Finally Derek raised an arm and awkwardly put it around Stiles’ shoulders. He patted Stiles’ back as if he wasn’t sure how to give (or receive) comfort. Not that Stiles didn’t already know that about him. But if there was one thing Stiles did well, it was give good hug. By the time he was done with him, Derek wouldn’t even know what hit him.

“What are you doing?” Derek said again, this time just slightly less growl-y.

Without realizing it, while his thoughts had been wandering, Stiles had relaxed even more into Derek. His arm was slung loosely around Derek’s waist, his face pressed against Derek’s shirt.

“I can’t help it,” Stiles said, so relaxed he sounded drunk. “You smell so _good_ to me. Do I smell good to you?”

“No,” Derek growled, but the nose he pressed into Stiles’ short hair put lie to the denial.

“Is it so bad,” Stiles said, mouth loosened as his body melted against Derek. “Needing someone?”

“I don’t need anyone,” Derek said, the denial coming automatically to his tongue, though there wasn’t much conviction behind it.

That wasn’t it, then, wasn’t the thing that so frightened Derek. If it wasn’t needing someone else, it was, “Having someone else need you,” Stiles said, his voice registering his surprise. “That’s what scares your socks off, isn’t it?”

Derek grabbed Stiles’ upper arms and peeled him off him and set him back a step. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I do,” Stiles said. “Some. Not about you, but . . . . My dad. I’m all he’s got now, and sometimes I worry I won’t be enough. That I won’t be able to make him happy, won’t be able to keep him safe.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Derek growled.

“Yes, it is,” Stiles said. “You think if they find out about me they’ll leave him alone? Or are they the kind of people who’d use him to get to me?”

Derek didn’t blow off Stiles’ question or escape through the window, so he must’ve heard the real concern in Stiles’ voice. “Your father’s a pretty public figure,” Derek said. “They’d be stupid to go after him. He should be safe. He’ll be safer,” Derek went on, now on firmer ground, “if you don’t give yourself away to them.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but he said, “I’ll be careful. I promise,” he added at Derek’s doubtful look. “You be careful, too,” Stiles said, remembering Mr. Argent’s comment that he hadn’t met Derek _yet_. “Mr. Argent sounded interested in meeting you. A little _too_ interested, if you know what I mean.”

“I can take care of myself,” Derek said reflexively, but added, “I’ll be careful.”

“Good. Speaking of Mr. Argent,” Stiles said. “You never did tell me what you found when you checked out their place.”

“We’ve been kind of busy,” Derek said, giving Stiles a ‘what do you want from me’ look.

“Well, we’re not busy right now,” Stiles retorted.

Stiles ushered Derek over to the bed and pushed him down onto it. If he sat a little to close to Derek when he joined him, neither of them mentioned it.

“Spill.”

Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles wondered if his sarcasm was rubbing off on Derek, or whether they were kindred spirits aside from the whole werewolf thing.

“They’ve brought in other hunters,” Derek said.

Stiles felt his eyes go round. “How many?”

“I’ve counted a half dozen dropping by different days during the week. I think they’re holding meetings, but I can’t hear anything. They must have a soundproof room in the house.” 

“Awesome,” Stiles said. “And not suspicious at all.”

Derek gave him a look. “Just. Stay away from them. As much as you can. They have a code,” Derek said, his voice going tight, “but they’re obviously not averse to breaking it. You need to be careful.”

Stiles winced when Derek grabbed his hand and squeezed it, but he didn’t pull away. “I will. Derek, I promise, I’ll be careful.”

Derek nodded and released him. “Get some sleep,” he said as he stood.

“Okay. You, too,”

Derek raised his eyebrows.

“What, I can’t worry about you, too?”

Derek didn’t answer. Stiles rose and followed Derek to the window.

“Don’t forget about dinner tomorrow,” Stiles reminded Derek as he climbed through the window.

“I won’t.”

“You better not. Because I happen to know the Sheriff pretty well,” Stiles said. “And I’ll send him after you.”

Derek’s only answer was another raised eyebrow and then he was gone. Stiles looked out the window for several minutes after Derek disappeared into the darkness, using his sight and his hearing to try and locate him, but Derek was too good. Stiles closed the window and went back over to sit on the edge of his bed. He wondered why it was so important to him to figure out what made Derek tick, to protect him even from himself.

It might be a pack thing, Stiles thought, wishing he knew more about how a pack functioned. Laura had told him some things, but not this. She’d probably thought they had more time. Stiles remembered his mother’s smile, dimmed with pain but still bright. Isn’t that what they all thought?

~*~*~*~

“What’s that?” Derek said flatly.

“It’s a chair,” Stiles said as he struggled to get the wicker rocking chair out of the back of his Jeep.

“I can see that,” Derek said. “It’s broken,” he observed.

One of the support rungs had already been loose and kept falling out, but one leg and rocker piece had come loose and fallen out when Stiles was trying to maneuver the chair into Betty’s small storage space.

“It’ll fit right in,” Stiles grunted.

Derek heaved a put upon sigh and pushed Stiles out of the way. “Let me get that before you break it even more.”

“That’s the spirit,” Stiles said.

Derek glared at him over the top of the rocker. He set the chair onto the ground and it tilted sadly to the right. They both stared at it.

“I think I’d rather sit on the ground,” Derek commented.

Stiles reached back into the Jeep and retrieved the leg and rocker piece and the support rung. He handed them to Derek, who looked at them curiously.

“What am I . . . ?”

“I bought wood glue,” Stiles said, slapping a tube of said wood glue against Derek’s chest. Derek grabbed at it, nearly hitting himself in the face with the chair leg. He glared at Stiles, who winced in apology. “Sorry.”

Stiles turned back to Betty to close the door and saw the cushion. He snatched it out and dropped it onto the seat of the rocker. They both took a moment to study the effect.

“Jaunty,” Stiles decided.

Derek gave him a look that said he disagreed, but he didn’t say anything. He took the cushion off the seat and slapped it into Stiles’ face. Stiles grabbed the cushion so it wouldn’t fall to the ground and lowered it so he could yell at Derek. But Derek was no longer there. He’d picked up the rocker and was carrying it and the broken pieces towards the house. Stiles shut Betty’s back door and ran after him.

“I knew you’d like it,” Stiles said.

“I can’t leave it sitting in the yard,” Derek said. “Makes the place look like a junk yard.”

Stiles glanced up at the charred remains of the Hale house. “Right. A broken rocking chair is what makes this place look like a dump.”

Derek set the chair on the porch and squatted beside it. Stiles dropped the cushion onto the top step and plopped down onto it. He watched as Derek studied the tube of glue and then set about gluing the pieces and fitting them back together.

“I figured you’d know how to fix it,” Stiles said. When Derek’s only answer was a raised eyebrow he went on. “My mom used to love to sit on the back porch and look at her flowers. That rung kept falling out. My dad promised to fix it but he just never had time. Mom probably could’ve done it herself, but she didn’t want to show up my dad. And then she got sick.”

Stiles played with the seam of the cushion and refused to look at Derek, even though he could feel Derek’s eyes on him. He didn’t know why he’d been thinking about his mom so much lately. Laura’s death had stirred up old memories.

“What kind of flowers did your mom plant?” Derek asked.

“Uh,” Stiles said. “Brightly colored ones?”

Derek shook his head. “Is your dad okay with you bringing the chair here?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. He’d asked. His dad had looked sad for a moment at the reminder of his mom, probably kicking himself for one more thing he hadn’t made time for before she died, but he’d only said, “Better than gathering dust on the porch.” So Stiles had wiped it off and stuffed it into the Jeep, but it looked like it could probably still use a fresh coat of paint.

Derek capped the glue and stood up. “It needs to dry.”

They both stared at the chair for a few seconds.

“Is watching glue dry as boring as watching paint dry?” Stiles mused.

And was immediately sorry he’d said anything.

“Why do I need to learn self-defense?” Stiles said, thirty minutes into his first lesson.

“Did you give Laura this much trouble?” Derek said, sounding exasperated.

“Laura was nicer.”

Derek rolled his eyes and answered the question. “So you can protect yourself. And I think you’ve already learned that _having_ enhanced strength doesn’t mean you know how to use it.”

Stiles couldn’t deny that, so he changed the subject. “It’s confusing.”

“What is?”

“Sometimes I’m supposed to go all out, and other times I have to hold back. It hurts my brain to try and remember everything.”

“The other option is getting killed,” Derek said dryly.

Stiles sighed. “Not really helpful.”

“You know what’s helpful?”

“What?” Stiles said warily.

“Practice.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but he raised his arm to block a punch Derek threw without warning.

~*~

“What did you do this morning?” Scott said.

“Grocery shopping,” Stiles said, figuring it was the safest of the two things he’d done to mention.

“Oh, that’s right,” Scott said with an exaggerated ‘I just remembered’ tone. “Derek’s coming over to dinner tonight.”

Stiles glared at Scott’s image on his computer screen. Scott just laughed.

“You’re not going through withdrawal, are you, going almost a whole day without seeing him?”

Stiles ignored the question. “Why do we even need to know anything about chemistry, anyway?” he asked as he skimmed the chapter for an answer to one of the questions at the end. He’d just read the chapter, and still couldn’t find what he was looking for.

“I’m all for removing chemistry from the curriculum,” Scott agreed. “But don’t think I didn’t notice you ignoring my comment before.”

“What comment?” Stiles aid with faux innocence.

“About Derek. And withdrawal. Unless you’re not going through withdrawal because you’ve already seen him,” Scott said thoughtfully.

“I took him a chair,” Stiles said before Scott could make a bigger deal out of it than he already was.

“A chair?”

“He has nothing to sit on!” Stiles said.

Scott just stared at him.

“Okay, it was mostly for me,” Stiles admitted. “Derek doesn’t actually sit still for very long. It’s almost like you can see the energy building up inside him. I wonder if you forced him to sit still if he’d eventually start vibrating with all that pent up energy?”

“Like a Mexican jumping bean,” Scott commented.

Stiles snorted. “Miguel,” he drawled.

“Dude,” Scott said. “Did you just name the Mexican jumping bean version of Derek ‘Miguel’?”

Stiles chuckled as he imagined Derek as a jumping bean.

“What?”

“Hold on.”

Stiles drew a stick figure of Derek with glower-y eyes and pointy hair and labeled it ‘Derek’. He drew a misshapen bean, gave it a face with thick eyebrows and a frown, and labeled it ‘Miguel’. He held up the paper to the web cam and showed it to Scott.

Scott barked out a laugh despite himself. “That’s bad,” he said. “I hope you don’t have any delusions of becoming an artist.”

“That hurts, man,” Stiles said as he folded up the paper and shoved it beneath his keyboard.

“I’m sure your ego can take the hit,” Scott said unsympathetically.

They did homework with several breaks to play video games and draw up a profile for a new character Scott wanted to create for their RPG, until Stiles’ alarm went off. He and Scott said their goodbyes (Scott with a gleeful smirk) and signed off. Stiles went downstairs to get supper started.

Stiles got the ground beef out of the refrigerator and started forming patties. They’d had burgers last Sunday, but they were a staple in the Stilinski household. The meat was cold on his hands and he wished he’d thought to take it out earlier so it could warm up. Patties formed, Stiles checked the clock as he washed his hands. His dad was due home in about ten minutes and he hadn’t called to say he’d be late, so Stiles figured it was safe to start the grill.

Stiles took the lighter with him in case the grill balked at starting. For once it didn’t. He adjusted the flame and closed the lid so it could heat up. Stiles turned around and bit back a scream.

“Oh my god!” Stiles said when he could speak. “Don’t you ever use the front door?”

Derek shrugged. “I heard you back here.” He hesitated for a second, then went on. “Listen, I need you to do something for me.” After the words left his mouth, though, Derek just stood there.

“Okay?” Stiles said.

Derek shifted, as if asking Stiles (or anyone, for that matter) for anything made him uncomfortable. “Can you look up Laura’s file like you did the other murder victims?”

Stiles felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him. It took him a few seconds to be able to form words. “Yeah, I _can_ , but are you sure you . . . ?”

“I need to know what they’ve found, how they’re . . . labeling it. Her death.”

Stiles nodded. He and Derek knew what had killed Laura and the other two victims, but the police didn’t have the same luxury. Still, it would be good to know what avenues they were investigating, what leads they were following up on.

“Okay,” Stiles agreed. “I can’t do it right now, though, because my dad’ll be home soon, but later. Actually,” Stiles said. “We should probably ask him if he’s got any leads. He’s probably wondering why I haven’t been bugging him about it, and you’ve got actual standing to ask, so . . . .”

Derek nodded, and then cocked his head like a Spaniel. Which Stiles would never say out loud because he liked his insides right where they were.

“Your dad’s home.”

“I figured it was either that or Mrs. Peterson let her cat out.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Stiles said as he led the way back into the kitchen. Now that he knew about Derek’s assumed, and as yet un-denied, affinity for bunnies, he was going to keep an even closer eye on the town’s cat population.

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles said when his dad entered the kitchen through the other door.

“Stiles.”

Stiles held still for a quick rub of his dad’s hand over his head.

“Derek, I’m glad you could make it.”

Stiles’ dad held out his hand and Derek took it.

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate the invitation,” Derek said.

Stiles watched the two of them interact with interest. It wasn’t often that he got to see this side of Derek.

“Hamburgers,” his dad said when he spotted the tray of patties. “Good, I’m starving. I hope you got cheese.”

“Of course I got cheese,” Stiles said as he washed his hands again so he could put the burgers on the grill.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’re gonna put bacon on there, too.”

Stiles gave his dad the side eye. “You suppose right,” he said.

“Worth a shot,” his dad said (mostly to Derek) with a shrug.

“Don’t you have to go wash up, or something?” Stiles said archly as he used his elbow to open the screen door, both hands tasked with holding the tray of burgers.

“Sometimes he reminds me so much of his mom,” Stiles’ dad said wistfully to Derek.

Stiles bent over the grill and pretended he hadn’t heard.

~*~*~*~

Stiles gave his father the spatula and put him in charge of the grill. Stiles poured glasses of strawberry lemonade and handed them to his dad and Derek. Derek stared at the glass as if he didn’t know what to do with it.

“It’s just a glass,” Stiles said. “It’s not going to bite. You do know how to drink out of a glass, don’t you?” he teased.

Derek glared at him. His dad gave him a look that said, ‘Derek is a guest in our home.’

“I was just gonna offer him a straw,” Stiles said as his dad headed for the grill, inviting Derek to go with him lest he be stuck with Stiles for company. “Or a sippy cup,” Stiles added, his voice low enough that only Derek would hear him, which he did if the slight hesitation before stepping out of the house was any indication.

Stiles smiled to himself as he moved around the kitchen. Ruffling Derek’s feathers was fun and a feat to be savored because it wasn’t often he managed to get under Derek’s skin. Sure, he aggravated Derek on a daily (possibly hourly) basis, but that was mostly unintentional. Seeing Derek’s normally unflappable facade slip because Stiles had tweaked him was a treat.

Stiles got the tub of potato salad out of the fridge and dumped it into a serving bowl so it wasn’t obvious that he’d bought it. He’d planned on making one himself, but he’d ended up buying it when he stopped at Carol Anne’s Café to pick up a pie for dessert while he was out shopping. Not only were her pies homemade and the best he’d ever tasted (his mom had made the best chocolate chip cookies, but she’d only tried to make a pie once and that was before Stiles was born, but it was a story that got retold often), but Carol Anne also gave him a discount on anything he bought because of the massive not-so-secret crush she had on his dad. While he was at the café Carol Anne had mentioned that she’d just made a fresh batch of potato salad, so Stiles took a tub of that, as well.

Stiles set the table and then went out to see how the burgers were coming along. He stood in the doorway and watched his dad and Derek. They didn’t often have company over for dinner, so aside from crime scenes and department picnics, Stiles rarely had the opportunity to see his dad interact with other adult-shaped people.

Derek knew Stiles was there but he didn’t say anything. It was nice to see his dad enjoying himself, even if there was a trace of ‘what are you doing with my son’ in the set of his shoulders.

“The burgers are about done,” Stiles’ dad announced. “You wanna bring out the cheese?”

Stiles jumped and Derek smirked at him. “How did you know I was here?”

His dad raised his eyebrows. “I wasn’t elected to Sheriff on good looks alone,” he said.

Stiles rolled his eyes as his dad grinned at him. He took the cheese out and stood awkwardly between his dad and Derek, watching his dad drape slices of cheddar across the burgers.

“Did you get your homework done, or were you and Scott playing games all afternoon?” his dad asked as they waited for the cheese to melt.

“Uh, a little of both?” Stiles said.

“You’ll get it done tonight?” his dad said, not really asking.

“Of course,” Stiles agreed.

Stiles loved learning new things, he just usually didn’t have the patience to sit still long enough to finish anything. It wasn’t his fault he got bored easily.

Dinner was actually quite pleasant, with none of the interrogation-type questions Stiles expected. Because baseball season had just started, the first subject they tackled was sports. Stiles had memorized the stats of every player on the Mets team and was able (and willing) to talk about their prospects for a run at the championship this year for hours. Derek claimed that his time in New York had made him a Yankee fan, but Stiles thought that was only because he wanted to see Stiles flail and gasp in disbelief.

Once they’d exhausted the topic of baseball (or his dad’s patience for listening to Stiles ramble on about it), his dad turned the topic to local businesses, as if continuing their conversation from yesterday when he and Derek had been discussing automotive repair shops. His dad listed a few places, from hardware shops to restaurants, that gave good value for the money. He casually mentioned that a lot of the businesses had changed hands over the past few years.

“We’ve even got coffee shops and some of those internet cafés now.” His dad shook his head.

Stiles had to bite his lip to hide a smile.

When Stiles pulled out the apple pie and vanilla ice cream, his dad gave him a disappointed look. “What?” Stiles said. “I’m sharing, see?”

“I can’t believe you take advantage of Carol Anne like that.”

“Like what?” Stiles said, concentrating on cutting a straight line through the center of the pie.

“I know she gives you a discount.”

Stiles’ head shot up. “You do? I didn’t think you knew about that,” Stiles said guiltily. “It doesn’t bother you?”

“That you’re taking advantage of her generosity? Yes, it bothers me.”

“No, I meant . . . the reason she’s so ‘generous’,” Stiles said, complete with finger quotes.

His dad looked a little bit uncomfortable. “Well, maybe a little bit,” he admitted. “I mean, of course we miss your Mom, but it’s not like we’re not getting along, right? I don’t need anyone feeling pity for us because your Mom died . . . . What?” he trailed off at the expression on Stiles’ face.

“You think she . . . ? No, actually, you’re probably right. Pity, definitely.”

“What do you think her reason is?”

“I think you’re right. She’s just a very empathetic woman,” Stiles said as he opened the ice cream container.

“I have the power to ground you,” his dad said.

“You wouldn’t . . . . Okay, you would, but I think you’d be more comfortable if we just stick with the pity explanation,” Stiles said.

His dad just stared at him.

“Alright, but don’t say I didn’t try to protect you from the knowledge that . . . .”

“Stiles.”

“Carol Anne has a crush on you. It’s, like, massive.”

“She does not,” his dad scoffed.

“If you say so, man,” Stiles said.

“She doesn’t,” his dad insisted.

“I’m sure you’re right. Just my imagination.”

Stiles placed slices of pie on plates and then scoops of ice cream beside the pie. He slid two of the plates over to his dad and Derek. His dad ignored the plate of sugary goodness, something almost unheard of in the Stilinski household.

“It’s no big deal,” Stiles said, trying to reassure his dad. “I’m sure no one else has noticed. She probably doesn’t talk about you to _everyone_ that comes in the café.”

“She talks about me?”

“Uh, no?”

“Who else knows?”

Stiles glanced at Derek, who pointed a fork heaped with apple pie and ice cream at him. “Hey, don’t involve me in this.” At a look from Stiles’ dad, Derek said, “I’ve only been in town a week.” A moment later he said, “Yeah, okay, I may have overheard something.” Derek lowered his face to his plate and refused to look up as he shoveled apple yumminess into his mouth.

Stiles was glad to see that his dad’s ‘dad look’, which was very much like his ‘sheriff look’ now that Stiles thought about it, worked on people who weren’t Stiles Stilinski.

“How could I miss something like that?” his dad said.

“Guess your good looks had more to do with you getting elected than you’d like to admit,” Stiles said.

His dad shot Stiles a glare.

“On the bright side, she makes great pie. Maybe you should ask her out.”

“Seriously. Ground you.”

~*~

Derek waited until after the table had been cleared to bring up the investigation into Laura’s death. Stiles’ dad took Derek to the study so they’d have some privacy. Stiles rolled his eyes at his dad’s pointed look.

Stiles worked slowly to put the leftovers away in the fridge and load the dishes into the dishwasher, partly so he’d still be in the kitchen when they were finished, but also so he could listen in. His dad told Derek what he could, which basically boiled down to not very much, and nothing that they didn’t already know. Laura’s death appeared to be the result of an animal attack, though he’d never seen an animal that cut its victim in half before. They’d run several tests, but the bottom line was that they didn’t have a lot of evidence to go on, and what they did have was contradictory.

Stiles made a show of drying his hands when his dad and Derek returned to the kitchen. His dad gave him a look that said he knew Stiles had been stalling.

“I’ll leave you two alone now,” his dad said, sounding as if he wanted to warn Derek to keep his hands above the table. “I’m gonna go check the scores.”

Stiles snorted. “Don’t think I don’t know about your Game Show channel addiction,” he said. Adding, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” at his dad’s look.

He and Derek both waited to speak until they heard the television come on in the living room.

“Did you hear?”

Stiles nodded.

Derek was silent for a moment. “Can you do that other thing we talked about tonight?”

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles said, finding the thought of looking up Laura’s file more difficult than he had the others. “Do you think there’s something in the file he didn’t tell you?”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “There’s going to be a lot in the file that he didn’t tell me, like the specifics about those contradictions he mentioned, and the test results.”

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles said. He hadn’t realized how much his dad had said without really giving a lot away.

“Okay,” Derek said. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Where are you going?”

“Just moving my car so your dad doesn’t wonder why it’s still parked out front when I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles said again.

Stiles let Derek out the front door and locked it behind him. He paused as he walked past the living room to tell his dad he was going upstairs to finish his homework. Stiles rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything when his dad quickly flipped from a rousing game of ‘Family Feud’ to ‘Sports Center’ at the sound of Stiles’ voice.

In his room Stiles made sure his door was locked and his window unlocked before he sat down at his computer. With only a slight feeling of guilt Stiles logged into the Beacon County Sheriff Department’s system. He didn’t have a case number for Laura so he searched by name. When he found it and had confirmed it was the correct file, Stiles hit print and then backed out as quickly as he could. He erased his browser history and print log just in case his dad ever got it in his head to check up on him.

Stiles only had to wait a couple minutes more before Derek appeared in the window. Stiles glanced over at the sheets of paper lying in his printer tray a few times while he waited, but made no move to pick them up. He didn’t think he could bear to read the clinical descriptions of Laura’s death.

Derek took the loose pages from Stiles’ hand and sat down on his bed to read them, his back propped up by the pillows stacked in front of the headboard, his booted feet crossed at the ankle. Derek’s face was blank as he examined the report, but Stiles knew he had to be feeling something. He realized that it was probably as difficult for Derek to read as it would be for him. Stiles crept onto the bed and sat beside Derek. Derek didn’t look up, but he didn’t push Stiles away when he rested his head on Derek’s shoulder. Stiles closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, Derek’s familiar scent loosening the tension in his shoulders.

They’d been so busy preparing for the full moon that he hadn’t had much time to think about Laura over the past several days. Thinking about it now, having eavesdropped on his dad and Derek’s conversation, knowing that Derek held the black and white account of her death in his hands, her loss hit him anew.

~*~*~*~

Stiles’ alarm went off early. They had lacrosse practice before school today, and Stiles stumbled bleary-eyed out of bed. He passed a dad-shaped blur in the hall on his way to the bathroom and managed a grunt in greeting. It wasn’t until Stiles had splashed his face with water and was brushing his teeth that he realized he hadn’t put himself to bed last night.

Stiles stared at his reflection in the mirror, toothbrush motionless, toothpaste foaming and dripping down his chin. The last thing he remembered was resting his head against Derek’s shoulder, which meant . . . . Stiles glanced down, relieved to see that he was at least wearing his boxers and a t-shirt, and at the same time freaking out because he was only wearing his boxers and a t-shirt, which meant that Derek had undressed him last night. And tucked him into bed.

Stiles finished brushing his teeth and ran a wet hand over his head to dampen the short hairs and called it done. He got dressed in his practice clothes and packed his backpack with books and his duffel with a change of clothes. He lumbered down the stairs, bags banging into the wall, and then dumped everything on the floor in the hallway outside the kitchen.

Stiles’ dad eyed him over the paper as he practically fell into the kitchen in his haste. There was already a glass of orange juice, a bowl and spoon, and a box of cereal and carton of milk sitting at his place at the table.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Stiles said as he lurched into his chair. He took a sip of juice as he opened the cereal box with his other hand.

“Yeah, well, you’re easily bought,” his dad said.

Stiles snorted. “That’s what Derek said.” Busy pouring cereal, and then milk, it took Stiles a few seconds to notice that the silence had taken on a fraught air. When the silence grew too heavy for him to ignore, Stiles raised his head, spoon halfway to his mouth. “What?”

His dad’s raised eyebrows had Stiles quickly reviewing what he’d just said. “Easily bought with _food_ ,” he amended. When that didn’t appease his dad, he added, “And not for any illicit purpose. And certainly not, you know, _easy_.”

It was his dad’s turn to snort. “I think he’s known you long enough to realize that nothing with you is easy.”

“Hey!” Stiles protested through a mouthful of cereal. “He’s only known me a week and a half!”

His father just stared at him. Stiles sighed. “Point taken.”

His dad returned to the paper, and Stiles returned to his bowl of cereal. “Slow down before you choke,” his dad said from behind the paper. Stiles slowed down, but no one watching would be able to tell. Unless they were a werewolf.

Stiles’ dad folded the paper and stood. “I’ve got to get going.” He grabbed an insulated bag that Stiles presumed held his lunch (unless it was a decoy intended to throw Stiles off the trail of his fast food ways), and dropped a plastic baggie filled with grapes at Stiles’ elbow.

“You’re acting awfully fatherly this morning,” Stiles observed through another mouthful of cereal.

“Yes.” His dad bent down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, smiling at his dad with a mouth full of chewed Honeycombs.

His dad rolled his eyes and patted Stiles on the shoulder before he left.

~*~

“How was your dinner?” Scott asked when they met up outside the school.

“Dinner was fine,” Stiles said, hoisting his duffel and stick.

“No injuries?” Scott grinned.

Stiles gave him a look. “Only to my dad’s pride.”

“What happened?” Scott asked curiously.

“He found out about Carol Anne’s crush.”

Scott blinked. “He didn’t know?”

Stiles shook his head. “He’s now questioning his investigative and observational skills, and generally his qualifications for being Sheriff.”

Scott snorted. “He should be. She was kinda obvious about it. Stiles,” Scott said in a high-pitched voice. “How’s your father, the poor dear? Here, take him some cookies.”

“I know, right?” Stiles said. “Though, to be fair, not all of those cookies made it home.”

Scott grinned and agreed, “True. But if she really wanted them to get to your dad she shouldn’t have given them to two hungry teenage boys to carry.”

They high-fived.

“I’m going to Allison’s after school,” Scott said quickly.

Stiles blinked at the non-sequitur as much as the content of Scott’s statement. “Really?” he drawled. “Working kind of fast, aren’t you?”

“To study,” Scott clarified.

“Okay, sure, study,” Stiles said. “Make sure you use protection if you go past petting.”

Scott blushed. “We’re just going to study.”

“I believe you,” Stiles said, and then he winked at Scott.

Stiles smiled to himself as he pulled open the door to the locker room and walked in ahead of Scott. He liked that the tables were turned and he could tease Scott now. Though Scott had a better chance of actually getting laid with Allison than Stiles did with Derek. Not that Stiles wanted anything of the sort. Sure, Derek was buff, and good looking (if you hadn’t outgrown that whole being attracted to men with scruffy faces thing, which Stiles totally had), and he could sometimes be kind despite himself, but he was totally not Stiles’ type.

First of all, he was a guy. Stiles didn’t swing that way. In spite of his man crush of several summers ago, and the lack of any actual swinging going on. Except in theory. And in theory he swung towards the female form, specifically the lovely Lydia Martin. And even if he was interested in guys, Derek would so not be the kind of guy he’d go for. Surly werewolves that liked to throw him around didn’t do it for him. At all.

Stiles tried to picture Lydia, but the image that came to mind was Derek tucking him into bed last night. He pulled so hard on the lace while tying his cleat that it broke off in his hand.

~*~

“What happened?” Stiles said, staring at the broken driver’s side window of Derek’s Camaro.

“Accident,” Derek said tersely. “What are you doing here?”

Stiles refused to react to Derek’s grouchy tone. “Missed seeing you at practice this morning,” he said, grinning as he dropped onto the top porch step next to Derek. “And if you didn’t expect me, why were you sitting out here waiting for me?”

“I wasn’t waiting for you,” Derek said. “I just needed some fresh air.”

Stiles darted a glance back at the house, which gave open-air a whole new meaning. “Right.” He tried another tack. “Gonna tell me what’s got you so grumpy?”

Derek glared at him. “I’m not grumpy.”

“Grumpy pants.” Stiles poked Derek in the side.

“I will throw you into a tree,” Derek threatened.

“No, you won’t,” Stiles said with certainty.

Derek gave him the side eye. “Don’t tempt me.”

“I get it,” Stiles said, deciding to stop poking (literally and figuratively) at Derek. “I’d be upset, too, if anything happened to Betty.”

“Betty?”

“My Jeep,” Stiles said, waving his hand in Betty’s direction.

“You named your Jeep Betty?”

“Yeah. What’d you name the Camaro?”

Derek’s eyes slid over to the black sports car. “I didn’t name it anything,” he said.

Stiles nudged Derek with his elbow. “Come on, you can tell me.”

A growl rumbled low in Derek’s throat.

“Alright.” Stiles raised his hands in surrender. “You don’t have to tell me now, but I’m not giving up. I’ll get it out of you yet.” Stiles gave an evil-overlord laugh, and ignored the glare Derek turned on him.

“So, what did you do, kick up a stone?”

Derek looked confused at the change of topic.

Stiles pointed towards the Camaro. “Your busted window. Did you kick up a stone?”

Derek’s jaw worked as he ground his teeth together. “No, I didn’t kick up a stone.”

“A deer?” Stiles said, then answered his own question. “No, that would’ve caused more damage. Did someone take offense at your sunny personality and _throw_ a stone at you?” Stiles joked.

Derek’s jaw worked again, but this time he didn’t grit out any response.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, running with his new pet theory. “Did someone throw a rock at your window? Did you get hurt?”

Ignoring the fact of werewolf healing completely, Stiles reached out to run his hands over Derek to make sure he wasn’t injured. Derek pushed Stiles’ hands away.

“I didn’t get hurt,” Derek growled, sounding almost angry about that. “And no one threw a rock at me or the Camaro,” he went on before Stiles could ask again.

“Okay,” Stiles said, subsiding back into his spot on the top step. “Then what did happen?”

Derek didn’t speak right away, which set Stiles off.

“What the heck, Derek!” Stiles exploded. “Just tell me what happened, because my mind is thinking up scenarios that are probably much worse than what actually happened!”

“Hunters,” Derek bit out while Stiles’ words were still ringing in his own ears.

“What?” Stiles said, uncertainty and fear both coloring his voice.

“Hunters,” Derek said again.

Stiles’ throat closed up. He had to swallow a couple times before he was able to speak. “D-did they shoot at you?” he said worriedly. “Were you hit? Why were you _keeping_ that from me?” Stiles emphasized his point by punching Derek in the arm until Derek grabbed his wrists and held them. “Don’t you think that’s something I should _know_?”

“They didn’t shoot at me,” Derek said.

Stiles tried to calm down by taking deep breaths. “Then what happened?”

“I stopped at the gas station last night after I left you,” Derek said. “Argent decided that would be a good time to introduce himself.”

“What happened?” Stiles said breathlessly, leaning forward, nearly forgetting that Derek still held is wrists prisoner. “Did they touch you?”

“He just talked,” Derek said. “A warning.”

“And the window?”

Derek’s lips worked before he said, “He didn’t like what I had to say.”

“Which was?” Stiles prompted.

Derek remained silent.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said in understanding. “You goaded him. I can’t believe you . . . .”

“He was goading _me_ ,” Derek said. “Just looking for an excuse.”

“Probably,” Stiles agreed. “That doesn’t mean you should give him one.”

Derek gave Stiles a raised eyebrow that said, ‘Who are you to tell me what to do?’

“Because it would really piss me off if something happened to you, too,” Stiles said, even though the words felt like ground glass in his throat.

Derek didn’t stop Stiles when he dropped his forehead to Derek’s shoulder and just breathed him in, assuring himself that Derek was okay.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” Derek said.

“You can’t . . . you can’t just _say_ that and have it be true,” Stiles said. “They know who you are, Mr. Argent made a point of making sure you knew, are you even certain you’re safe here?” Stiles looked around them wildly at the house that hadn’t been built to be a fortress even when it had more than one standing wall.

“He’s not going to do anything,” Derek said. “At least not yet. He’s looking for the rogue werewolf, just like we are. He won’t do anything until he finds it. We’re safe so long as he follows the code.”

Stiles snorted. “And if he doesn’t?”

“We’ll need to be careful,” Derek said. “It’s important that he not discover that you’re a werewolf.”

“I’m certainly not going to announce it,” Stiles said.

Derek gave him a look. “He’s not stupid. He’s going to get suspicious over all the time we spend together. We’ll need a good cover story.”

“What’s wrong with the truth?” Stiles said. “Not _that_ truth,” he clarified at Derek’s look. “It’s not a secret that Laura was tutoring me in math. At least, that was our cover. And then with . . . her disappearance . . . . And I already told Scott, and my dad, that you’re helping me train for lacrosse. We’ve got enough non-werewolf reasons to spend time together. Don’t we?”

“Yeah,” Derek said. “I guess we do. We can’t slip up, though.”

“And by ‘we’ you mean ‘me’,” Stiles said. “I won’t. I mean, I know how much is at stake here.” He huffed a humorless laugh. “You know, if you’d told me a couple months ago that I’d become a werewolf and there would be people who wanted to kill me just because I exist, I would’ve thought you were nuts.”

Derek nodded his head, but didn’t speak.

“You never had that, did you?” Stiles said. “That moment when you first realized that you really were a werewolf and your life would never be the same. I mean, you’ve been a werewolf all your life, it’s the only thing you know. What was that like?”

Derek’s raised eyebrow called Stiles an idiot.

“Yeah, I know, it’s not something you can really explain to someone who hasn’t been a werewolf their entire life. Laura tried once, but even she sucked at it, so you don’t stand a chance.”

Stiles glanced up at Derek through his lashes and smiled when he saw the expected glare.

“Speaking of Laura,” Stiles said, the smile fading. “Did you find anything useful in the report?”

“Didn’t you read it?”

Stiles shook his head.

“Nothing new,” Derek admitted.

Which, Stiles knew, was both good news and bad. They hadn’t learned anything new, but at least the Sheriff’s department didn’t have a clue what had really killed Laura and the others. Stiles felt the slightest bit guilty for thinking that, but he comforted himself in the knowledge that at least his dad would be safe, because there was no way the Sheriff’s department was equipped to handle a rogue werewolf.

~*~*~*~

Stiles’ computer beeped to tell him that Scott was online.

“How was studying with Allison?” Stiles asked around the highligher cap he held between his teeth.

“We didn’t actually get much studying done,” Scott said.

Stiles raised his eyebrows to the camera. “Really? Tell Uncle Stiles all about it.”

“Not because of that!” Scott said. “Well, not _just_ because of that,” he added honestly, blushing. “And please don’t ever call yourself ‘Uncle Stiles’ again because that’s just creepy.”

“Done,” Stiles easily agreed. “So long as I get details.”

“We just kissed a little bit,” Scott said.

“Kissing is never just kissing,” Stiles said firmly, as if he was an authority. (At least, it wasn’t in the porn videos he’d watched.)

“We started talking,” Scott said.

“Talking,” Stiles repeated in disbelief. “Talking trumped kissing? What kind of bizarro world have we landed in?”

Scott rolled his eyes at Stiles’ dramatics, but refused to be baited. “Did you know that Allison can shoot a compound bow?” he said proudly. “She’s won awards and everything.”

“Really?” Stiles said with forced enthusiasm. “Tell me more.”

Stiles capped the highlighter and prepared to give Scott his undivided attention.

“There’s not much more to tell,” Scott said. “She showed me her bow.”

“Sounds dirty,” Stiles said, more because it was expected of him than because he was in the mood to tease. “What else did she show you?” Stiles waggled his eyebrows.

“Her dad’s gun collection,” Scott said, startling Stiles into momentary silence.

“Her dad’s _gun_ collection,” Stiles repeated slowly. “He has a gun collection? And she showed it to you?”

“Well, it was sort of just there, in the garage where her compound bow was, so I couldn’t miss it. It’s kind of huge.”

“Give you second thoughts about dating his daughter?” Stiles said with a nervous laugh.

“Especially when he came in and caught us making out,” Scott offered up.

Stiles’ eyes went wide. “In the garage? With all those guns?”

Scott blushed again. “What can I say, the image of Allison holding that bow was hot.”

Stiles imagined that it might be hot if he wasn’t picturing her aiming it at either him or Derek.

“What’d her dad do?” Stiles asked to get his mind off the image of Allison as a hunter in training.

“Invited me to leave,” Scott said with a sheepish, if proud, grin.

“I told you he looked like a man who was serious about protecting his daughter’s virtue,” Stiles teased with more lightheartedness than he was really feeling. “Sounds like he has more guns than my dad does,” he added, not fishing at all.

“Funny you should say that,” Scott said, ignoring Stiles’ teasing. “Allison said her dad supplies firearms to law enforcement. Maybe your dad knows him.”

“Maybe,” Stiles said, though he didn’t think so. Mr. Argent hadn’t appeared to know who his dad was at the scrimmage on Saturday.

“Do you think he’d put in a good word for me?” Scott said hopefully.

“Who, my dad? With Mr. Argent?” Stiles said. “I’ll ask.”

They talked for a little while longer. Scott sighed over Allison, who was perfect in his eyes. They discussed the book they were reading for English class, which turned out to be “Gulliver’s Travels”, and for which they had an essay due. Stiles invited Scott to come over to Derek’s on Wednesday for some more lacrosse training, since they had a morning practice that day and could go right after school.

The moment they disconnected the call Stiles pushed his school books to the side and dragged his keyboard forward. If Mr. Argent really did sell firearms to law enforcement as he claimed, he’d have a website, right? Especially in this day and age, and given the fact that he moved around a lot due to his actual job and so couldn’t have a physical store location.

Stiles went to the Real Property database to find Mr. Argent’s first name and got a twofer – Chris and Victoria. He Googled ‘Chris Argent’ alone and with ‘firearms’ and ‘law enforcement’, then used his wife’s name, and just Argent. Then he tried to move into it backwards by Googling ‘suppliers of firearms to law enforcement in California’. Still nothing came up. He really hadn’t expected to find anything, even though the best cover was one that stood up to a little scrutiny. If Mr. Argent wasn’t really in the business of supplying firearms to law enforcement, but had a website for his supposed firearms business, he took the chance that someone might actually find it and call him. And if he really did have a firearms business, all of the firearms would be registered and traceable back to him. Would he chance it? Or was this particular cover for Allison’s benefit only?

It was late, but Stiles was too wound up to sleep. He could hear his dad moving around in the kitchen so he went down. Stiles slowed his steps until his dad put away the whiskey he’d doctored his tea with and then he stepped into the kitchen.

“Hey, Dad.”

His dad smiled at him. “Son.” When Stiles didn’t speak right away, his dad said, “Is something wrong?”

“No, not really. I was just curious about something.”

“Okay.”

“There’s a new girl in school. Scott kind of likes her. She mentioned that her dad sells firearms to law enforcement and I wondered if you knew him.”

“What’s his name?”

“Chris Argent.”

His dad thought for a minute. “Name doesn’t ring a bell. What’s got you worried?”

Instead of lying Stiles told a half-truth. “He looks kind of scary, and I don’t think he likes the idea of Scott dating Allison.”

His dad smiled. “You’re worried about Scott?”

Stiles shrugged. “He asked if you’d put in a good word for him if you did know Mr. Argent.”

His dad laughed. “Like I said, the name doesn’t sound familiar, but I’ll check him out.”

“You can do that without him knowing?” Stiles said. At his dad’s look he added, “Not like I want him to know I asked my dad the Sheriff to look into him.”

~*~

Stiles was buzzing on too little sleep and too much caffeine the next day. He’d been too wired after hearing about Mr. Argent’s stash of weapons to fall asleep. He’d stayed up and read two chapters ahead in History and even did all the questions at the end of the chapters even though Mr. Carmody rarely assigned them all. He fell asleep while reading a disturbing article on knotting (which he’d found by clicking on a seemingly innocuous link while researching pack dynamics in wolves, hoping it might help him to better understand his reaction to Derek) and woke up with his face smooshed to the keyboard.

Stiles was leaning against Betty, finishing the last of the coffee he’d brought with him before heading into the school, when Scott cycled in. Stiles set the empty travel mug into the cup holder in Betty’s console and locked her up before heading over to meet Scott.

Scott glanced up from where he was locking up his bike. “Whoa, dude! You look like crap.”

Stiles tried to glare, but he wasn’t sure he pulled it off. “I was up late.”

“Doing what?”

Stiles couldn’t tell Scott about his research into Mr. Argent, or, Stiles shuddered at the thought, the bestiality website he’d inadvertently discovered, so he said the first thing that popped into his head. “Porn.”

“Gay porn,” Jackson said snidely as he walked past them.

Danny elbowed Jackson in the side. Hard, if Jackson’s gasp was any indication.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Jackson said as he grabbed his side, then added, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” in a tone Stiles figured was supposed to be for Danny’s ears only.

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Danny said.

“Dude,” Scott said, drawing Stiles attention away from Jackson and Danny. “TMI.”

“I’m not the one who said it was gay porn,” Stiles defended himself.

“I don’t want to think of you watching porn of _any_ kind,” Scott said. “But was it?”

“Was it what?”

“Gay porn,” Scott said. He wasn’t looking at Stiles, but Stiles could see the way his lips were curved up in a grin. “With some guy that just happened to look like Derek?”

“Now I feel like I need to claim TMI,” Stiles said, ignoring Scott’s laughter and the way his own belly flipped at the thought. “And also, no.”

“Not to change the subject,” Scott said when they reached their lockers. “But did you ask your dad about Mr. Argent?”

“Yeah. He didn’t recognize the name, but I passed on your request for him to put in a good word for you if their paths crossed.”

“Do you think he will?”

It was pitiful how hopeful Scott sounded. Stiles was saved from having to answer by Allison smiling at Scott from across the hallway.

~*~

Stiles’ dad got home before Derek arrived. “Where have you been?” Stiles hissed softly when he opened the front door to, miracle of miracles, Derek’s knock, even though his dad was upstairs in the shower.

Stiles grabbed Derek’s arm and dragged him into the house. Derek glared at Stiles’ hand as if he might be considering biting it off. “Oh, stop it,” Stiles said, but he smoothed out the leather anyway.

“I’m not late,” Derek said as if he wasn’t sure.

They’d discussed it last night and decided that, even though they had legitimate reasons for being seen together, it would probably be less suspicious if they weren’t always sneaking around at the creepy (not a word Stiles spoke out loud) Hale house. So Stiles had invited Derek to dinner again, during which time his Camaro would be parked very conspicuously in the Stilinski driveway. Stiles didn’t think it would hurt anything if Mr. Argent thought there was a budding friendship between Derek and the Beacon County Sheriff.

“No, you’re not late,” Stiles said, “but you’re always lurking about, I thought you’d be earlier. I have some things to tell you.”

“Like what?” Derek said just as the shower cut off.

“Come on,” Stiles said, and led the way into the kitchen. “Scott went over to Allison’s after school yesterday to study. She showed him her compound bow. And no, that’s not a euphemism.”

Derek’s lips twitched, but he pinched them together, denying all hint of mirth. “That’s what you wanted to tell me?”

“No,” Stiles said. “Scott also saw Mr. Argent’s supply of firearms. It was huge.”

“How many firearms were there?”

“A lot,” Stiles said. “What? Scott didn’t take time to count them. He was more interested in Allison.”

“How does this help us?” Derek said.

“I don’t know, but it scared the you know what out of me,” Stiles said.

“He’s a hunter, we already knew he had weapons.”

“Yeah, but there’s knowing, and there’s _knowing_ ,” Stiles said. “Allison told Scott that her dad sells firearms to law enforcement, but my dad didn’t recognize his name. Doesn’t that sound fishy?”

“You asked your dad about Argent?” Derek said, displeasure clear in his voice.

“Yes, but it had nothing to do with . . . .” Stiles gestured between them. “Hey, Dad,” he said when his dad appeared in the kitchen doorway. “I was just telling Derek how Scott wanted you to put in a good word for him with Allison’s dad.”

His dad shook his head. “I don’t even know the man. Hi, Derek. I’m glad you could join us tonight.”

“I appreciate the invitation, sir,” Derek politely replied.

“What are we having, anyway?” his dad asked Stiles.

“Wasn’t it your turn to cook?” Stiles said, adding at his father’s look, “Zucchini casserole.”

His dad frowned. “You’re not trying to sneak ground turkey past me again, are you? Chili,” he said to Derek, “with ground turkey, can you believe it?”

“No,” Stiles said. “I’m using the rest of the ground beef I picked up Sunday. Besides, there’s no ‘try’, I totally snuck that ground turkey past you. You still wouldn’t know if you hadn’t been picking through the trash and seen the wrapper. Which I buried pretty deeply, by the way, just so you wouldn’t see it.”

“I told you, I accidentally threw something out,” his dad claimed.

“So you say.”

“But I’m beginning to think I may have had a sixth sense about you and your sneaky ground turkey ways. And don’t think I don’t know,” his dad went on, gearing up for a rant, “that you told the manager at the burger joint that if he served me curly fries I was going to die from a heart attack and then he’d not only be responsible for the death of the Sheriff, but for you being an orphan.”

“How . . . ? Oh, hey, I picked up a fresh loaf of Italian bread for dinner,” Stiles said in an attempt to distract his dad.

It worked, but not the way he’d intended. His dad pinked up, and Stiles was reminded of the recent revelation of Carol Anne’s crush. Luckily he wasn’t above fighting dirty.

“Carol Anne said to say hi, by the way,” Stiles said. Before his dad could kill him, Stiles said, “So, Derek, what have you been up to today?”

If looks could kill . . . . Now it looked like a toss up between Derek and his dad over who would kill him first.

“Nothing,” Derek grated out.

“Oh, come on,” Stiles said. “Please tell me you didn’t sit on your front porch and brood all day.”

“Stiles!” his dad said, surprise and reprimand in one word.

“It’s alright, sir,” Derek told Stiles’ dad. “I know he’s just trying to be funny.”

Which Stiles translated to, I’ll take care of him later when you’re not around to protest the beat down I give him.

“Trying being the operative word,” his dad commiserated.

“Hey!” Stiles protested feebly as the two of them bonded over his supposed lack of humor. They ignored him.

Stiles’ dad filled three glasses with ice and poured the fresh brewed iced tea Stiles had made when he got home from school over the cubes. He squeezed lemon into two of them and handed one to Stiles with a look that said he’d better be good. Stiles gave him the well-used look of the very wrongly accused. His dad gave him the look of ‘I’m not buying it.’ Derek put three teaspoons of sugar into his tea and Stiles bit his lip on a comment about needing sweetening up. With a look at his dad he decided to save it for later.

Stiles’ dad sat Derek at the kitchen table and then got out plates and silverware while Stiles opened the oven to check the casserole. It was bubbling nicely so he removed the foil to let the cheese brown a little bit.

“Did you get your window fixed?” Stiles said into the comfortable silence that had fallen, earning himself a glare. Only then did he realize that discussing the window that Mr. Argent had broken as a warning to Derek in front of his dad might not be the best idea.

“What happened to your window?” Stiles’ dad asked Derek solicitously.

“I kicked up a stone,” Derek said easily. “And yes,” he directed towards Stiles, “I got it fixed today.”

“When did this happen?” Stiles’ dad asked.

“Sunday night,” Derek said. “They had to order the window yesterday, couldn’t put it in until today.”

“Kicked up a stone, you say,” Stiles’ dad repeated thoughtfully. “This accident wouldn’t have happened at the gas station, would it?”

Stiles and Derek both froze. Derek recovered first. “No,” he lied. “On the road on the way home.”

“What an odd coincidence,” Stiles’ dad said, sounding like he didn’t think it was a coincidence at all. “Old Mr. Palmer who owns the gas station reported an incident Sunday night. Said it appeared that someone’s window had gotten busted. No one made a complaint to him, but he doesn’t like to encourage ‘lawlessness’,” he said, complete with finger quotes.

Stiles was familiar with Mr. Palmer’s tirades against lawlessness.

“No one came in to the station to swear out a complaint, but we’ve got a copy of the security tape if they wanted to. Deputy Harold is handling it.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Derek said. “It was just a stone.”

“Okay,” Stiles’ dad said, but Stiles knew it wasn’t the ‘I believe you’ kind of okay. “Stiles, how’s that zucchini casserole coming?”

“Oh, crap!” Stiles had forgotten all about it while listening to his dad grill Derek. It was a moment for the books and he wished he could’ve taken more pleasure in it, but fear of discovery had made his knees weak and it was all he could do to remain standing.

Stiles slid the casserole dish out of the oven and set it on top of the stove. He got out the cutting board and sliced half the loaf of Italian bread. He set the bowl of bread and dish of butter onto the table, and dropped some potholders in the center for the casserole dish. Stiles carried over his mom’s famous zucchini casserole and dished it up.

The first few minutes of eating were accomplished in silence. Stiles’ dad started a casual conversation by asking Stiles about school and practice. Stiles grilled his dad on what he’d eaten for lunch. Derek surprised them both by stating that he needed to find a job.

“I don’t need the money,” Derek said as they both stared at him. “Just something to . . . .”

“Keep busy,” Stiles’ dad finished in complete understanding.

Derek nodded.

“Does that mean you’re planning on staying in Beacon Hills, then?”

“I’m considering it.” Derek pointedly didn’t look at Stiles.

Stiles’ dad, on the other hand, did. Stiles shrugged and gave him a ‘why are you looking at me?’ look, even though the comment had made him want to climb onto Derek’s lap and cuddle. Probably the reason Derek had brought it up while they had a chaperone. Derek ignored them both and dished up a second helping of zucchini casserole without having to be browbeaten into it. Stiles couldn’t help the feeling of pleasure he got from knowing that Derek liked something he’d made.

Or maybe he just hadn’t eaten anything since Sunday night and was starving.

Stiles’ dad excused himself after dessert (the last of the apple pie) with the claim that he had to do some paperwork. Stiles put away the leftovers and rinsed off dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher. Derek brooded over a fresh glass of iced tea, the spoon clinking against the glass as he stirred the only sound he made.

“I went to see Peter,” Derek said into the silence that had fallen.

Stiles nearly dropped the plate he was rinsing. He caught it and turned to Derek. “You what?”

Derek glared at Stiles and repeated the statement as if each word cost him. Stiles left the dishes and went over to sit across from Derek at the table.

“How was it?” Stiles asked, really meaning, ‘How are you?’

Derek shrugged. “About like Laura said it would be.”

Stiles nodded as if he understood, but in reality he couldn’t imagine it. I’m sorry, he thought. He didn’t say the words out loud because he didn’t think Derek would appreciate them. But maybe what Derek wanted and what he needed were two different things – maybe Derek needed to hear someone say it.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said before he could rethink it.

Derek frowned. “For what?”

“For . . . everything,” Stiles said. “That’s happened to you, your family.”

“It’s not your fault,” Derek said, as if he knew exactly whose fault it was. And Stiles didn’t think he was blaming Kate Argent, either.

Derek pushed his chair back. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for dinner,” he added, the words sounding as if they’d been torn from his throat, and then he was gone before Stiles could walk him out.

Stiles didn’t move. His dad found him several minutes later, just staring at the top of the table.

“Derek gone?” his dad said, sounding surprised.

“Yeah.”

“Something wrong?” his dad asked when Stiles limited himself to a one word answer.

“He’s hurting, I think,” Stiles said thoughtfully. He raised his gaze to his dad. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Derek keeps his emotions all bottled up.”

“I’ve noticed. How do you tell what he’s thinking?”

“It’s all in the nuances,” Stiles said with a wry smile.

“You can read him pretty well, then?”

“I think so,” Stiles said.

“Then you know he was lying earlier,” his dad said casually, “as well as I do.”

“About what?” Stiles said warily.

“About his broken window.”

“He said it was a stone,” Stiles said.

“Yes, that’s what he said. But you know I don’t believe in coincidence.”

His dad didn’t wait for an answer, which was just as well because Stiles didn’t have one that wouldn’t be a lie. Maybe his dad knew that. He might not be a werewolf, but he could smell a lie a mile away. It was probably only a matter of time before he realized that Stiles was a werewolf, given that he already thought there was something slightly _more_ to his relationships with first Laura, and now Derek.

The only reason he hadn’t yet done so was probably only because what sane person jumped to the werewolf conclusion?

~*~*~*~

On the drive out to the Hale house Wednesday after school, Stiles wondered how Derek was doing after his revelation of the night before. Stiles was pretty certain that Derek blamed himself for the fire, and the guilt he was weighed down with must have made the visit to Peter even more painful. Stiles pondered whether Derek might have forgotten about inviting them out, or worse, now regretted it. There was only one way to find out.

Beside him, Scott was trying to hide his excitement, but Stiles could sense it in the beat of his heart, the slide of sweat-slicked palms against each other. Stiles decided that heading into this with a positive attitude would be best, so he allowed Scott’s enthusiasm to infect him.

“Maybe we can gang up on Derek,” Stiles suggested.

“Maybe Derek and I should gang up on you,” Scott teased.

“You’re _my_ best friend!” Stiles squawked.

“You’ll have to make it worth my while.” Scott grinned.

“I can’t believe the depths of your betrayal,” Stiles said dramatically. “Maybe I should make you walk home.”

“Maybe Derek’ll give me a ride. In the Camaro.”

Stiles shook his head sadly. “I never realized how easily your loyalty could be bought.”

“You bought my friendship with half a Twinkie,” Scott reminded him.

“And a T-Rex,” Stiles said.

They both smiled at the memory.

Derek wasn’t sitting on the porch waiting for them when Stiles pulled up to the house. Neither was the Camaro parked in front of the house. Stiles stopped the Jeep and turned off the ignition.

“Is he here?” Scott asked.

Stiles listened. He heard the familiar, steady thump of Derek’s heartbeat.

“He should be,” Stiles told Scott. “Let’s get our sticks and go look for him. If he’s not here we’ll toss the ball ‘til he gets here.”

They grabbed their sticks out of the back of the Jeep and Stiles led the way around to the back of the house where the sound of Derek’s heartbeat seemed to come from. The Camaro was parked behind the house and Derek was bent over what had once been a flower bed, a pile of pulled weeds beside him.

Derek acknowledged them with a glance. “I just want to finish up here. Why don’t you two toss a few warm-up throws until I’m done.”

“Okay,” Stiles agreed, but neither of them moved.

Derek wore a tank top despite the chill in the early spring air and sweat shone on the muscles he worked as he yanked the weeds from the overgrown flowerbed. Derek straightened and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead so he wouldn’t get dirt from the leather work gloves he wore on his skin. He frowned at them.

“Why are you both just standing there?”

Stiles and Scott both jumped guiltily. They turned to move and ran into each other, bouncing back like cartoon characters. They regained their balance and headed further out onto the back lawn.

“Jeeze,” Scott said. “I can see why you might want to do that,” he said, sounding both turned on and horrified at the prospect.

“Oh my god,” Stiles groaned, more because Derek had to have heard the comment than because Scott continued to believe that he and Derek were an item. “I’m not . . . doing that,” he gritted out.

“Why the hell not?” Scott said, and then bit his lip so nothing else could escape.

The first throw might have been a little harder than necessary, and before Scott was quite ready for it. Stiles took a perverse pleasure in the thunk of the ball hitting Scott’s shoulder and the “Ow!” that soon followed.

Stiles paid for his little fit of pique the next day. He pulled Betty around to the back of the house and parked next to the Camaro, which Derek had started parking there after he’d gotten his window fixed so that any visitors to the Hale house (Stiles excluded) wouldn’t immediately be alerted to his presence. Stiles was glad to hear that Derek was playing it safe, especially after his encounter with Mr. Argent, even if he insisted on staying out there.

No sooner had Stiles exited Betty than Derek said, “I left something in the woods for you. Go find it.” He turned back to the recently de-weeded flowerbeds he was preparing for planting.

“That’s it?” Stiles said. “No hints? No suggestions?”

Derek ignored him. Stiles turned and looked at the trees surrounding the Hale house. There were a lot of woods out there. “Could you at least narrow it down a little bit? No?”

Stiles sighed and entered the woods. He started down the first path he came to – it was overgrown, but he could make out the trail that little tiny Hale feet had tread. Stiles tried to imagine what Derek would have left out here for him to find. A weapon? Food? Stiles froze. Another trap? Derek had told him to pay attention and to never let his guard down. Crap. So far Stiles had failed at both, but maybe it wasn’t too late to implement them now.

Stiles listened to the sounds of the forest. The birds and animals near him had fallen silent, but he could hear them continuing about their daily business further off. He raised his nose to the sky and inhaled, looking for any scent of Derek that meant he’d been this way recently, for the telltale scent of hemp, or metal, anything that didn’t belong. He looked for tree branches pulled down, leaves on the ground disturbed where a trap had been laid. There was nothing.

Stiles began walking slowly, his senses fully extended. It was exhausting, remaining alert all the time. He felt a headache building by the time he reached the creek. Stiles recognized the spot where he’d fallen in the night of the full moon. He squatted down for a drink and splashed his face, as well, hoping that it would help with the headache. He was careful not to slip in this time.

Stiles started on a path back towards the house. He had a feeling that he’d be out here all night scouring the woods. He hadn’t gone far from the creek when a new scent registered. Plastic. Stiles wouldn’t put it past Derek creating another trap entirely made out of flexi-cuffs. What else did he have to do all day. The flower beds were probably a ruse to keep Stiles on his toes. He picked up a stick and used it to probe the path ahead of him as he walked.

Stiles had gotten used to the sound of birds and squirrels fading as he passed through, only to resume once he’d left the area. His ears caught the sound of something ahead, something that wasn’t silent and hiding at his approach. Stiles slowed his feet until he turned a curve in the trail and saw a small plastic case sitting smack dab in the middle of the path.

Stiles approached carefully until he got close enough for his eyes to verify what his nose and ears were telling him. The case, or cage, rather, contained two tiny bunny rabbits. Both of them would probably fit into the palm of his hand. Stiles’ first instinct was to pick them up and cuddle them and coo over them.

Stiles caught himself before he knelt on the ground or picked up the cage. He wouldn’t put it past Derek to have somehow booby trapped the cage. It would be just like Derek to wait until Stiles thought he was home free (and had let down his guard) to spring the trap. Stiles used the stick to clear the ground all the way around the cage. He nudged the cage with the stick, moving it forward more than two cage lengths before he was satisfied that nothing had been hidden beneath it.

Stiles picked up the cage and took a few minutes to study the tiny fuzz balls. They were so _cute_. He continued back to the Hale house, walking carefully, senses extended, stick tapping the path ahead of him. He didn’t feel safe until he stood in front of Derek, who leaned against the Camaro, arms crossed over his chest, scowling at Stiles.

“What took you so long?”

“I was looking for traps!” Stiles said.

“There weren’t any traps,” Derek said, sounding confused. “I wanted you to practice tracking.”

“You never said that! Besides, I wouldn’t put it past you to say one thing and do another. I even checked the cage in case it was booby trapped,” Stiles said.

“Huh,” Derek said. “I wish I’d thought of that.”

“Oh, geeze,” Stiles said, realizing that he’d given Derek the idea.

“Good job staying alert,” Derek said, surprising Stiles.

“Pay attention and never let down your guard,” Stiles parroted.

“And?”

“Think like a werewolf.”

Derek didn’t smile, but he looked pleased at Stiles’ progress. He inclined his head to the right and then pushed off the Camaro. Stiles followed him over to a small hutch that he hadn’t seen before. One end was enclosed with a little entryway that led to the screened-in half so the rabbits could get some sunlight and fresh air. There were already carrots and a bowl of water waiting for them in their new home.

Stiles took the rabbits out of the cage one at a time. He cradled them in his hands, rubbing his nose against their soft fur before depositing them into the hutch. Once they were in there, nosing at the carrots and hopping about and exploring their new home, Stiles asked the question he’d been trying not to think about.

“You got me rabbits.” When Derek didn’t answer, Stiles said, “Why?”

“It’s important to have things that remind you of your humanity,” Derek said.

“You’re not afraid I’ll eat them?” Stiles said, only half teasing.

“You won’t eat them,” Derek said confidently.

“Why not?”

“Because they’re yours.” Derek walked away.

Stiles thought about that as he studied the hutch, the scent of wood shavings (and rabbit poop, jeeze!) filling his nostrils. He wondered where Derek had gotten the hutch. Stiles frowned. He leaned closer to the hutch and sniffed the wood. Derek’s scent – sweat and blood – was all over it. Stiles’ head came up.

“Hey, did you build this?”

Derek, wherever he’d disappeared to, didn’t answer.

~*~

Derek came over Friday night with takeout. Because Stiles didn’t have to cook their dinner he made a batch of chocolate chip cookies for dessert. As soon as they cooled Stiles bagged up half and put them in the freezer for another day (and so his dad didn’t eat them all in one sitting). He put some in a bag for Derek to take home with him and put the rest on a plate and covered it with plastic wrap.

Stiles chatted with Scott and did homework while he waited for his dad to get home and for Derek to show up with the Chinese. Scott was so nervous about what he should wear to his upcoming date with Allison that night he didn’t bother to tease Stiles about Derek or the rabbits, which Stiles had told him about because he’d see them on Saturday anyway and he wanted to get the teasing over and done with someplace where Derek wouldn’t hear it.

Stiles erased his history of researching werewolves when he heard his dad pull in. His dad raised his eyebrows when Stiles met him at the door.

“Derek’s bringing the food,” his dad said as he hung up his hat and took off his jacket.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I know that. I didn’t come down to greet you because of food.”

“What do you need, gas money?”

“No. Maybe I just wanted to welcome my father home from a grueling day at work.”

“What class are you failing?”

Stiles opened his mouth to protest, but then he saw the smile working at the corners of his dad’s lips. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m a little bit funny,” his dad said. “I got time for a shower?”

“Yes,” Stiles said.

Derek would be there soon, but Stiles knew how his dad needed the shower ritual to shed the work day and ease into being home.

Stiles got out plates and forks while his dad showered. He set out glasses and drinks. Bored, he pulled out his phone and texted Scott, and then played ‘Solitaire’ while he waited. It was addicting. Derek pulled in just as his dad came down the stairs. His dad apparently didn’t need to be a werewolf to sniff out approaching dinner.

Stiles’ dad answered the door and brought Derek into the kitchen. He saw the plate of cookies on the counter and gave Stiles an ‘I know there’s more of that hiding around here somewhere’ look, but he just pointed Derek towards a seat at the table and helped him empty the bags. Stiles waited impatiently, already salivating over the delicious scents. They passed around the containers, dishing some of each onto their plates, and dug in.

Despite the amount of food Derek had brought (he’d clearly come prepared for Stiles’ increased appetite), there weren’t any leftovers. Stiles unwrapped the plate of cookies and set it on the table. His dad didn’t hesitate, snatching two cookies off the plate as if Stiles might withdraw the proffered goodies. Stiles took one and then slid the plate closer to Derek, who was rubbing his full belly and eyeing up the plate as if he might actually not have room for a cookie. Which was blasphemy as far as Stiles was concerned.

Stiles gave the plate another nudge and Derek glared at him before taking a cookie. Satisfied, Stiles sat back and smiled around his mouthful of cookie.

~*~

Saturday morning dawned clear and bright. Well, Stiles presumed it did, since it was clear and bright when he woke at nine o’clock. He’d stayed up late pretending to study while actually listening in on his dad’s conversation with Derek. He hadn’t exactly been invited to leave, but his dad’s expression made it clear that the only reason he could imagine for Stiles’ continued presence during boring adult conversation was the non-existent relationship between him and Derek, so Stiles pretended that he didn’t want to stay and listen to them talk about fertilizer. Fertilizer!

Stiles went upstairs and eavesdropped from his bedroom. Once in a while they’d comment on the game Stiles’ dad had turned on, but mostly they talked about wood chips versus the new rubber ones, and what kind of flowers did best in their soil, which needed sun and which preferred shade. It was boring, but it made Stiles wonder how much Derek (and even his dad) was starved for adult conversation, even if it was a conversation about flowers.

The scent of frying bacon drew Stiles out of his thoughts. He pulled on a pair of sweat pants and hurried downstairs. His father gave him an amused look from where he stood in front of the stove flipping the bacon.

“I figured this would get you up.”

“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t eat it all,” Stiles said.

“Uh huh. Your concern for my health is commendable.”

“Just making sure you live to see your grandchildren,” Stiles said flippantly as he got out the eggs and started cracking them into a bowl.

“Please tell me that’s not a hint I’m supposed to pick up on,” his dad said. “I don’t think my heart could take becoming a grandfather at such a young age.”

“Wha–? Oh, no! I think you have to at least be dating someone for that to even be a remote possibility.”

His dad gave Stiles a look. Stiles sighed.

“Okay, one, I’m not dating Derek, and two, if I was, which one of us do you expect to carry the fetus?”

“Okay, that’s just . . . disturbing.”

“If you think that’s disturbing, imagine for a moment just were the baby would come out,” Stiles said.

They looked at each other in shared horror and both shuddered.

“This conversation has almost ruined my appetite,” his dad said.

“More bacon for me,” Stiles said with little sympathy.

“I said ‘almost’.”

“Besides, if anyone’s appetite should be ruined, it’s mine. Where do you even get these ideas?”

Over scrambled eggs, bacon and toast, Stiles’ dad said, “I was thinking about taking the afternoon off, letting the paperwork go for another week.”

“Not like you’re putting a dent it in it, anyway,” Stiles teased.

“I am, too,” his dad retorted. “A slight ding, anyway.”

“Ha!” Stiles said. “What’s the occasion?”

His dad cleared his throat. “I thought maybe we could spend some time together. You could show me some lacrosse moves.”

Stiles snorted at that last bit, but said, “Really, though, you want to . . . ?”

“Yeah! It’d be fun.”

“I won’t hurt your manly pride?”

“I’m going to hurt more than your pride if you don’t watch it,” his dad threatened, which Stiles might have taken more seriously if he hadn’t been trying to snag the last piece of bacon out of Stiles’ hand.

“Hey, you snooze, you lose!” Stiles said, successfully stuffing the bacon into his mouth. “Anyway, back to the other, yeah, that would be . . . ! Oh, shoot.” Stiles belatedly remembered the plans he’d made with Scott and Derek to do some lacrosse training.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Stiles said. “Just, I made plans with Scott to go over to Derek’s and practice, but I can cancel, no big deal.”

“I know I sprung this on you last minute. If you’ve already got plans . . . .”

“Yeah, but no,” Stiles said. “I can cancel.” He enjoyed spending time with Scott and Derek (even if Derek did like to bruise him a little), but it had been a while since his dad had time to just hang out with him and do stuff. “Unless . . . .”

“Unless what?”

“Unless you want to come with,” Stiles said excitedly. “It could be you and me against Scott and Derek. The Stilinski men could totally kick their a– butts!”

“I’m not that good,” his dad.

“Please,” Stiles scoffed. “None of us is.”

He’d been a mediocre lacrosse player for so long that he actually believed the lie for a second.

“Well, except for Derek. Which isn’t fair because he didn’t even play lacrosse. He’s just naturally . . . athletic,” Stiles finished, finally finding a word that didn’t guiltily scream ‘he’s a werewolf!’

“Well,” his dad said. “If you’re sure I won’t embarrass you.”

Stiles pumped his fist. “They won’t know what hit ‘em,” he boasted, then ruined it by adding, “Besides, I thought it was a father’s job to embarrass his son at every opportunity?”

~*~

Stiles had told Scott during their gaming session earlier that morning that his dad was joining them so he wasn’t surprised to see Stiles’ dad sitting in Betty’s front passenger seat when they stopped to pick him up. After the greetings the Jeep fell silent until Stiles asked Scott how Allison was doing. He didn’t shut up the rest of the ride. Stiles’ dad shot him a look, and Stiles just shook his head and smiled as he watched Scott’s animated facial expressions in the rearview mirror.

“Jesus,” Stiles’ dad swore softly when they drove out of the trees lining the driveway and into the clearing surrounding the Hale house, allowing him a glimpse of it. Or what remained of it.

“Yeah,” Stiles said softly. “It’s seen better days, that’s for sure.”

“Derek’s staying out here?” his dad said, sounding horrified.

“Yeah.” They all stared at the house. Even in the bright afternoon sunshine it looked creepy. And sad. Lonely. Kind of like Derek. “I think he’s punishing himself,” Stiles said, not even trying to fool himself that Derek wouldn’t hear. He’d probably gone on high alert the moment the Jeep had driven onto Hale land and been tracking them from the road.

“For what?” his dad said.

Stiles shrugged. “Living?”

Stiles drove around the house and pulled up next to the Camaro. “We’ve got a fourth!” he called out as they all fell out of Betty.

Derek gave Stiles a look that confirmed his suspicion that his comment had been overheard, and then turned his attention to Stiles’ dad.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Derek said wryly. He pulled off his gloves and held out his hand to Stiles’ dad. “It’s good to see you again, sir.”

Stiles’ dad took Derek’s hand and shook it. “I hope you don’t mind me tagging along today. I decided to play hookey from my paperwork.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Derek said.

“This is where you’ve been working?” Stiles’ dad said, gesturing towards the flower beds and ignoring the charred remains of the big pink elephant in the room.

“Yeah,” Derek said, and the two men walked off together to study the beds and discuss planting.

Stiles and Scott shared a look. “Warm up tosses?” Stiles suggested.

Scott nodded and they jogged a little ways from the house. Not that a ball through a window (if he could find one still intact) could damage the house any more than it already was.

They tossed the ball around easily, loosening up while Scott rehashed every moment of his date with Allison last night, even though he’d already told Stiles all about it (in excruciating detail) that morning. Stiles let him talk, telling himself that he was racking up some serious bro points.

“What are they looking at?” Scott said.

Stiles turned his head, expecting to see his dad and Derek bonding over a bag of mulch or something. Instead, they were standing near the bunny hutch.

“Oh,” Stiles said. “The rabbits.”

Scott’s eyes lit up, as much at the idea of seeing the rabbits as at teasing Stiles some more, Stiles was certain. “I wanna see!”

Scott took off towards the hutch and Stiles followed more slowly. His dad caught his eye as Stiles approached.

“Derek bought you rabbits?”

“Yeah?” Stiles said. “Maybe he thought if he gave me something else to take care of you’d have a chance to sneak some curly fries once in a while. Hmm. I smell a conspiracy.”

His dad snorted. “They only had two?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Did you feed them yesterday?” he asked Derek.

“I thought they were your responsibility,” his dad said, sounding very dad-like.

“I wasn’t here yesterday!” Stiles said.

Stiles dropped to his knees beside the hutch and pressed his face to the wire mesh. “Hey you guys.” Stiles stuck his fingers through the holes and the rabbits hopped over to investigate. “Did you guys miss me?”

“They’d probably miss you more, or at least pretend to, if you showed up with food,” his dad remarked.

Stiles pulled a baggie of baby carrots, the only kind they’d had in the house, out of his pocket and waved it at his dad before opening it and sticking a carrot through one of the holes. He dropped a few more into the hutch and watched the rabbits nibble at them.

“Let me introduce you,” Stiles said grandly. “The mostly white one is Bunny, and this one with the black splotches is Rabbit.”

Stiles looked up into three faces that wore expressions ranging from disbelief to amused. His dad was the first to speak.

“You named your rabbits Bunny and Rabbit?”

Stiles grinned, and for a moment he was overcome with emotion. It took him a couple seconds to figure out where it had come from. He was happy, content, kneeling here right now, surrounded by the three people who meant the most to him in the world. His dad, his best friend, and Derek, who he now shared so much with even though they’d both started out at very different places. His family. His pack.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles’ dad said.

Stiles blinked quickly. “Nothing. Come on, let’s go play lacrosse. We’ve got some butts to kick.”

The End of Episode Four


	5. Episode Five: now i can’t seem to breathe right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris Argent gives the Sheriff a warning, Kate returns to Beacon Hills, Stiles finds out that Derek’s been keeping things from him and makes a confession of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written: September 25, 2012

“Are you coming to the game?” Stiles asked.

“No.”

Stiles waited, but nothing else was forthcoming. “That’s it, just ‘no’?”

“Unlike some people,” Derek said as he turned his back on Stiles. “I don’t need to use a dozen words when one will suffice.”

“Oh, that hurt,” Stiles said, dramatically clutching at his chest.

Derek didn’t look at him, but Stiles saw the hard line of his jaw clench even tighter.

Taking the bull by the horns, Stiles said, “Are you still mad at me because of what I said earlier?” Aside from the look Derek had given him when they’d first arrived, before turning his attention to Stiles’ dad, Derek had neither done nor said anything about the comment he’d clearly overheard.

“I’m not mad at you,” Derek said shortly.

“Really? ‘Cause it seems like you’re mad at me.”

Their impromptu ‘could barely be called a game’ game of lacrosse had been fun, and even Derek had seemed to enjoy himself, but the moment his dad and Scott had headed to the Jeep to wait, leaving Stiles alone with him, Derek had gone all closed off.

“Not everything is about you, Stiles,” Derek said sharply. “Maybe I just have other things to do.”

“Do you? Have other things to do?”

“Yes,” Derek ground out between clenched teeth.

“Like what? Plant flowers in the dark? Brood?”

“I don’t need you judging me,” Derek snapped.

Stiles’ mouth fell open. “I . . . what? I, I’m not judging you.” Except for how maybe he had been, expecting that Derek conform to Stiles’ expectations and stop blaming himself for something that clearly wasn’t his fault. “Exactly.” But it had only been out of love. “How about caring about you, is that off limits, too?”

“Yes,” Derek said automatically.

Stiles just stared at him for a second. “You’re ridiculous. And also, too bad, because for some crazy reason I do care about you. And you know what? So does my dad. Looks like you’re stuck with us.”

At the reminder of Stiles’ dad, Derek glanced over Stiles’ shoulder to where the Jeep sat, his dad and Scott probably not even trying to hide their interest in their conversation.

“They’re watching us.”

Of course they were. “And you know what they’re probably thinking?” Stiles answered his own question before Derek could even open his mouth. “That we’re having a lovers’ spat.” Stiles emphasized his point by gesturing between them with his finger.

Derek clenched his jaw. “We’re not . . . .”

“You know that, and I know that, but them? They don’t know that. They think we’re hiding a burgeoning romance from them. And right now? They think you’re breaking my heart. You don’t want my dad, the Sheriff, who never goes anywhere without his gun, to think that you’re breaking his only child’s heart, do you?” Stiles said teasingly. “It could get messy.”

“I’ll heal,” Derek said dryly. It looked like he didn’t know whether to smile at Stiles or to strangle him.

“But it’ll hurt like hell,” Stiles said. “Less painful to just give in and show up at the game.”

“That’s blackmail,” Derek said, sounding the slightest bit impressed with Stiles’ ingenuity.

“So I’ll see you later, then?” Stiles said hopefully.

“I wouldn’t want your father to have to explain the discharge of his weapon,” Derek said. “I know how he hates paperwork.”

Stiles smiled. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate the thought.”

They looked at each other for a moment in silence. Stiles shifted nervously.

“Look, before. I didn’t mean . . . . I just don’t think you should feel guilty all the time for something you had no control over.”

Derek’s jaw worked, but he didn’t speak.

“I know, you think this is none of my business . . . .”

Derek made a sound of agreement.

“. . . but, well, you are my business now. Whether you like it or not,” Stiles added. “And I don’t like to see the guilt eating you up, that’s all.”

Stiles couldn’t tell whether Derek’s silence was of the ‘I’d kill you slowly and painfully if we didn’t have witnesses’ variety, or the ‘I’m thinking, however reluctantly, about what you’re saying’ sort.

“I realize that I only met Laura, but you can’t tell me that anyone in your family would blame you, would want you to live the rest of your life miserable and unhappy.”

Still no response. Stiles sighed.

“Well, I hope you come.” Stiles turned away, shaking his head as he walked over to Betty.

“Everything okay?” his dad said with dad-type concern when Stiles got in the Jeep.

“Yeah, I guess,” Stiles said, sounding as defeated as he felt. “I was just trying to convince Derek to come to the game tonight.”

“He doesn’t want to?” Scott said, sounding scandalized that Stiles’ supposed boyfriend would bail on the game, even if Stiles wouldn’t be playing in it.

Stiles backed up the Jeep and then drove around the house. “He, uh, doesn’t want to, you know, intrude,” he fibbed.

“He’s not intruding,” Stiles’ dad said. “I hope you told him that.”

“I tried. I may have told him that you carry a gun and know how to use it,” Stiles said.

“You threatened Derek with my shooting him,” his dad said slowly.

“Well, I couldn’t threaten him with me shooting him,” Stiles said reasonably. “I don’t know how.” Before his dad could reprimand him, Stiles went on. “Derek said he’d hate to be the cause of you having to fill out more paperwork.” He tried to smile.

Stiles’ dad snorted. “So he is coming, then?”

Stiles shrugged. “I hope so.”

~*~

Stiles was jerked out of sharing his pithy and insightful asides about the game with Scott, who sat beside him on the bench, by the sound of his dad’s voice seemingly loud in his ears even though his dad was on the other side of the field. Not that Stiles was waiting for Derek to show up, or anything.

“Derek,” Stiles’ dad said, his voice echoing in Stiles’ head. “I’m glad you could make it.”

Even though Stiles remembered where his dad had been standing, it took him a second to find them. When he finally did, they were shaking hands.

Derek looked torn between discomfort and pleasure, almost as if he was angry with himself for being happy (however temporarily) that someone enjoyed his company and was glad to see him, but all he said was, “Thank you, sir.”

They started talking about what had transpired in the game so far and Stiles let his hearing fade. But he couldn’t stop watching them. As if he felt Stiles’ eyes on him Derek looked over and their gazes caught long enough for Derek to raise an eyebrow at him for staring, and for Stiles to feel kind of foolish at being caught doing it.

Stiles returned his attention to the game and tried to ignore what his dad and Derek were doing and talking about on the opposite sideline. He was pretty much successful at it until he saw Mr. Argent making his way over to where Stiles’ dad stood talking to Derek. Stiles made a sound of distress that caught both Derek’s and Scott’s attention. He saw Derek’s eyes move towards him, though he didn’t shift his head or body to give away the gesture.

“What’s wrong?” Scott said.

“Nothing,” Stiles said. He made up something about the game, but his attention was no longer on it. He couldn’t take his eyes off the approaching train wreck. Stiles took the chance of having his eardrums blown out by the referee’s whistle and extended his hearing.

“Sheriff Stilinski,” Mr. Argent said, extending his hand to Stiles’ dad. “Chris Argent,” he introduced himself. “I just moved to Beacon Hills with my family, and I thought I should introduce myself.”

Stiles’ dad took Mr. Argent’s hand. “Welcome to Beacon Hills,” he said, adding, “Argent. That name sounds familiar.”

“Argents have lived in Beacon Hills on and off over the years,” Mr. Argent said with a look at Derek that Stiles’ father, questionable observational skills or not, couldn’t miss.

“Is your daughter’s name Allison?”

When Mr. Argent acknowledged that it was, and pointed her out in the stands, Stiles’ dad went on. “I think my son mentioned that his friend Scott likes your daughter.”

“Yes,” Mr. Argent said, trying not to sound like he’d just bitten into something bitter, and totally failing. “Scott’s been out to the house once, and they’ve gone out a few times, a party and the movies, I believe.”

Stiles’ dad nodded. “Scott’s a good kid.” (Stiles made a mental note to tell Scott about that later.) “Do you drive an SUV, by any chance?”

If Mr. Argent was surprised by the change of topic, he didn’t show it. “Yes. A red Tahoe.”

Stiles’ dad nodded. “I think I’ve seen you around town,” he said thoughtfully.

It sounded pleasant enough, merely an observation, but Stiles could hear the warning beneath it, the ‘I’ll be keeping my eye on you’. If the stiffening of Mr. Argent’s shoulders was any indication, he’d caught the warning as well.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles’ dad said. “How rude of me. Chris Argent, this is Derek Hale. The Hale’s have lived in Beacon Hills a long time, too.”

Real subtle, Dad, Stiles thought.

Across the field, the two men looked at each other. Neither made a move to shake the other’s hand. Derek kept his hands fisted inside the pockets of his leather jacket, but Stiles was pretty sure if he could see them there would be claws at the tips of his fingers. From the glance Mr. Argent dropped to Derek’s jacket, he thought so, as well.

“We’ve met,” was all Mr. Argent said.

Stiles’ dad nodded and acted as if the two men refusing to shake hands wasn’t strange at all.

“Well, I should get back to Allison. Sheriff, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

“And you,” Stiles’ dad said.

“Just a reminder, Sheriff, though I’m sure you don’t need it. Not everyone is what they seem.” Mr. Argent pointedly didn’t look at Derek.

Another guy who lacked subtlety, Stiles thought.

“I’ll remember that,” Stiles’ dad said.

“Have a good night,” Mr. Argent said.

“You, too.”

Stiles’ dad watched Mr. Argent walk away, only turning his attention back to Derek when Mr. Argent reached the bleachers where he’d left Allison.

“Friend of yours?” Stiles’ dad asked Derek.

Derek couldn’t hold back a surprised snort, but all he said was, “No.”

To Stiles’ surprise his dad didn’t push, but he found the determined set to his jaw worrisome.

~*~

Sunday was pretty normal. Or what had come to pass for normal in the world of Stiles Stilinski. Stiles ate breakfast and then went out to the Hale house after his dad left for the station. Stiles played with the rabbits and offered them treats, and then Derek threw tennis balls at him, but this time he blindfolded Stiles first.

“I can’t even dodge ‘em when I can see ‘em coming!” Stiles complained as Derek tied the blindfold around his head.

“That’s the point,” Derek said.

“What’s the point?” Stiles said, feeling surprisingly vulnerable without his sight.

“You shouldn’t rely on just one or two of your senses for anything. Use them all.”

“How can I use them all if I can’t see?” Stiles said, just to be contrary.

“You need to practice using the senses you normally ignore,” Derek said, not rising to the bait. “Not being able to rely on sight will force you to do that.”

It was a good thing that Stiles had werewolf healing because he got more than his usual share of bruises that morning. Stiles snorted as he imagined his dad’s overprotective concern if he saw them and worried about Stiles entering into some abusive relationship with Derek. A tennis ball hit Stiles in the shoulder and Derek sighed.

“You’re not paying attention.”

“Sorry,” Stiles said. “I got distracted for a second, but I have been paying attention, I just don’t know what you want me to do!” Stiles whined.

“Use your senses,” Derek said with more patience than Stiles would have expected. “ _Listen_. The ball makes a sound as it displaces the air. _Smell_. Even taste.”

Derek threw the next ball before he finished speaking, but Stiles, who’d actually been concentrating, heard him. Heard the material of his clothing rubbing against his skin when he shifted, heard the not quite a whistle sound the ball made as it moved through the air. The ball thunked him in the hip, but Stiles was so excited that he didn’t even notice the sting.

“I heard it! Derek, I heard it!” Stiles said, grinning and dancing.

“Awesome,” Derek said dryly. “Next time, move out of the way.”

Stiles waved his hand. “Yeah, yeah.” That was the point of the exercise, he knew, but the fact that he’d actually heard the ball coming was too thrilling for him to be concerned with the details. “Do it a–ow–gain. Funny.”

Stiles caught the ball as it bounced off his forehead. He brought it to his nose. There was the scent of rubber, and of the felt-like covering, but also the scents of Derek and himself from handling it. He dropped the ball and raised his face to the sky, sniffing. Grass, freshly turned dirt, the carrots he’d dropped into the bunny hutch earlier. Stiles pushed them all away and sought out Derek’s familiar scent.

Derek moved. Stiles heard it, but it was also as if the scent of him grew stronger on the air. The ball flew towards him. Stiles heard the air part around it, recognized the combined scents of rubber, felt, him and Derek. Stiles twisted to the right and felt the air move as the ball went past him. Stiles whooped and was immediately hit with another ball.

“Celebrate after the battle, not during,” Derek said.

But Stiles didn’t care. “Did you see that?” he said, jumping up and down.

“I saw,” Derek said. “Now pay attention.”

Stiles got hit with the tennis balls more times than he ducked out of the way, but he was thrilled with his own progress. When Derek called an end to the lesson Stiles whipped off the blindfold and threw his arms up in the air and did a silly hip wiggle and foot shuffle. Derek almost smiled.

“I rock!” Stiles proclaimed.

“Yeah, okay,” Derek said.

~*~

Stiles went over to Scott’s for a round of video games disguised as doing homework, then hit the grocery store on the way home. Tonight’s dinner wasn’t going to be anything fancy, just macaroni & cheese and hotdogs, but it was his mom’s recipe and his dad claimed that no one made a better mac & cheese. Stiles agreed.

Derek showed up for dinner as instructed. It was good for Stiles to see that someone else, especially a big, bad werewolf, could be cowed by his dad when he used his dad-voice and ‘invited’ them to Sunday dinner. It still made Stiles chuckle to recall the expression on Derek’s face when his dad had said, “And I expect to see you at the dinner table every Sunday, unless something else comes up, young man.” Derek hadn’t commented on being called ‘young man’, just dutifully said, “Yes, sir.”

Remembering his own increased appetite, and taking into account the addition of Derek to their dinner table, Stiles doubled the amount he normally made when it was just the two of them. Derek didn’t turn up his nose at the humble offering, just sat down in the place that had quickly become his and waited for Stiles to dish up the macaroni & cheese before digging in. They decimated the entire package of hotdogs and there was just enough macaroni & cheese left to send a small dish to work with his dad the next day.

His dad waited until they were all full and groaning in their chairs to bring up Mr. Argent. “I can’t stop thinking about Chris Argent’s obvious dislike of you, Derek,” he said casually.

Stiles immediately froze in his seat. His dad rarely did anything casually.

“Especially when he’s just moved to town. I mean, you could’ve only run into him, what, once or twice?”

The silence after the question invited (demanded, really) an answer. Stiles watched Derek struggle with his desire to refuse to answer and wanting to be polite.

“Once,” Derek finally, grudgingly, said.

“Where was that, by the way?” Stiles’ dad asked. When Derek didn’t answer right away, he went on, “Grocery store, library, gas station . . . ?”

Stiles’ breath caught when he realized that his dad wasn’t letting the incident with Derek’s broken window go. He also realized that Derek was a _horrible_ liar. In the past, at least with Stiles, if he didn’t want to answer a question he just walked away. He couldn’t do that now. Well, he could, but it would look very suspicious. And he’d already let the silence go on too long for any lie he told now to be believable. It looked like it was up to Stiles to rescue the situation.

“Oh my god, just tell him the truth, already!” Stiles told Derek. “It’s really not that big of a deal.” Which was where the talent to hide the bigger lie behind a small truth came in handy.

Derek glared at him, but Stiles ignored it. He faced his dad, who looked at him with interest.

“Derek dated Mr. Argent’s sister.” Stiles couldn’t look at Derek, knowing that he couldn’t stand to see the pain and guilt on his face. The betrayal as Stiles told, and tried to make light of, one of his deepest, darkest secrets in order to hide a bigger secret.

“It was a long time ago,” Stiles went on. “It didn’t end well.”

Understatement of the century.

“Is that true?” Stiles’ dad asked Derek.

Derek clenched his jaw, but he nodded.

“Why didn’t you just say so before?” Stiles dad said gently.

Derek raised his eyes to Stiles’ dad’s face. “You never asked.”

Stiles’ dad shrugged in agreement. “I guess I never did.” He waited a beat, then said, “So it _was_ Chris Argent who broke your window at the gas station, then?”

Just when you thought you were safe, Stiles thought, as the music from “Jaws” played in his head.

“Yes!” Stiles answered when it appeared that Derek was caught between his previous lie and the truth. He’d learned that coming clean on a lie was like removing a band aid. Best to get it over with quickly. “Oh my god, yes! Just tell him the truth,” he told Derek. “Because if he even _thinks_ you’re lying to him, he will dig and dig, until he discovers things like the fact that you got drunk when you were fifteen, and then ground you _for life_. Trust me on this.”

“There was vomit all over the bathroom,” his dad said. “And you smelled like a brewery. It didn’t really take much digging. Besides, it was only for a week.”

“He made me clean the bathroom,” Stiles told Derek. “I almost puked again.”

“Served you right,” his dad said.

“That’s a very touching story,” Derek said. He sighed when they both turned to look at him. “Okay, yes, fine. Chris Argent broke my window. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. And I still don’t,” he added. “He made his point, it’s over.”

Stiles’ dad raised his eyebrows. “You think he’s done? He made a point of coming over and warning me about you _while you stood right there_.” He reached out and touched Derek’s arm. Stiles waited for the explosion at the contact, but it never came. “Just watch yourself, okay?”

Derek stared at Stiles’ dad as if he wasn’t used to having people care about him. He shook his head and recovered. “I will,” Derek said.

“Okay,” Stiles’ dad said, nodding. “Okay, well. I’ve got some files to look at.”

“Court tomorrow?” Stiles remembered.

“Yeah,” his dad sighed. “One of the least favorite parts of my job. Stiles, you . . . ?”

“Yeah, I’ve got this,” Stiles said. He knew that his dad hated court appearances, and plus he wanted a few minutes alone with Derek.

Stiles’ dad stood. “Thanks for dinner, Stiles. Derek, always a pleasure.”

“Thank you, sir. Me, too.”

“How come you never tell me it’s always a pleasure?” Stiles said.

His dad raised his eyebrows. “Because it’s not.”

“You wound me,” Stiles said.

His dad rubbed his hand over Stiles’ head. “Get your homework done.” I love you, in dad-speak.

“I will.” I love you, too, in Stiles-speak.

They both waited until Stiles’ dad had closed himself in his study, and then Stiles looked at Derek, waited for him to yell at him for telling secrets that weren’t his to tell. Instead, Derek stood up and carried his plate and glass over to the sink.

Stiles watched in wonderment. “What are you doing?”

“Helping clean up,” Derek said, as if Stiles was an idiot for having to ask.

“Why? Want the kitchen spotless before you take me out back and kill me? Look, I’m sorry that I . . . but, man, you were sinking _fast_ , and I’ve learned, not that I lie, a lot, but I’ve learned that a smidgeon of truth usually throws people off the scent, and I know you don’t like to rem–.”

Derek grabbed Stiles’ lips and pressed them together so he’d stop talking. Unsurprisingly, he tried anyway.

“I know,” Derek said. He let go of Stiles and went back to stacking dishes in the sink.

“You know?” Stiles repeated. “Wait, are you thanking me?”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

Stiles grinned. “You are. Because _I_ am awesome.”

Derek ignored him. He turned his back to Stiles and turned on the water to rinse off the dishes.

“Awe-some,” Stiles repeated, sputtering when Derek turned around with the sprayer and aimed the spray of cold water right at Stiles’ face.

Stiles ineffectually tried to slap the stream of water away as he dove at Derek, grabbing for the sprayer, which Derek held out of reach. Stiles was soaked and out of breath by the time the noise drew his dad back to the kitchen.

“What the heck is go– . . . ?” Stiles’ dad trailed off as he surveyed the damage and shook his head. “Just . . . clean it up before someone falls and cracks their head open.”

Stiles looked at Derek and giggled as he listened to his dad muttering to himself about corrupting influences as he returned to the study. He got a face full of water in return, but it was worth it to see the smile on Derek’s face.

~*~*~*~

Stiles’ good mood diminished when they got a pop quiz in History class, and vanished altogether when he overheard Allison telling Lydia that her Aunt Kate had arrived last night for a visit. What were the chances that Allison had two Aunt Kates? Yeah, zero to none. Stiles nearly had a panic attack, especially when he realized that he’d never pinned Derek down about a phone number and had no way to contact him to make sure he was alright.

Stiles was on pins and needles the rest of the day. The only saving grace was that they’d had a morning lacrosse practice, so he could head out to the Hale house right after school let out. It didn’t make watching the minutes tick by with agonizing slowness any easier to bear. Or listening to Scott worry about meeting yet another member of Allison’s family when all he wanted to do was scream that Scott should stay away from her because she couldn’t be trusted.

Instead, he had to force himself to tell Scott that it would be fine, that Kate would like him because Allison did, and because he was polite. And cute, which made Scott blush and shut up for exactly two minutes before he started worrying Stiles’ ear again.

Stiles tried to leave Scott and Allison at her locker without it being obvious that he was in a hurry to get out of there. Despite his preoccupation with meeting Allison’s Aunt Kate, Scott gave Stiles a knowing look. Stiles didn’t even try to deny it. This was one instance when Stiles’ non-existent relationship with Derek came in handy.

“Have fun,” Scott teased.

“You, too,” Stiles said, and watched the color drain out of Scott’s face. Stiles wasn’t a saint, but he wasn’t cruel, either. He clapped Scott on the shoulder. “You’ll do fine,” he said. “Just bat those beautiful brown eyes at her and she’ll be putty in your hand.”

More like nitroglycerin, but Stiles kept that thought to himself.

Stiles hurried out to Betty. He sensed that something was wrong before he got there. He slowed his steps, examining the Jeep as he approached it. He remembered Derek’s lessons and used senses other than sight. He caught Derek’s scent, but it was _wrong_ somehow. He used his sight to look into the Jeep before he tried the door. Someone was inside her, and somehow Stiles knew that it was Derek.

Stiles opened the door without bothering with the key, presuming that Derek had picked the lock to gain entry. “Derek, what the hell,” Stiles hissed before he got his first glimpse of him.

Derek was all scrunched up, lying down as best he could on the backseat. He was pale and sweating. He looked sick. But werewolves didn’t _get_ sick. “What’s wrong?” Stiles said, forgetting about everything else in his concern for Derek.

“Get in,” Derek bit out through clenched teeth. He winced, and Stiles realized that it was pain rather than anger that colored his tone.

Stiles quickly got in and tossed his bag onto the passenger seat, uncaring when it fell off onto the floor. “Derek,” he said, his voice cracking. He’d never seen Derek like this. He’d never seen anyone like this, except his mom just before she died. With Laura’s loss so fresh, Stiles’ hand shook and he had to clench his fingers around the keys to keep from dropping them.

“Get us out of here before someone sees me, sees us together,” Derek growled.

Stiles knew that the growl wasn’t directed at him, which made him even more nervous. Derek growling at him was something Stiles knew how to handle. This Derek . . . Stiles had no idea. It took him two tries to start Betty, and then it seemed to take forever to get out of the parking lot. Stiles remained silent so no one saw him talking to himself and got suspicious, but he kept glancing into the rearview mirror, unable to equate this Derek with the one that had sprayed him with water just last night.

“Where to?” Stiles said when they were on the road a block from the school. “Your place?”

“No,” Derek groaned. “It’s too open. I can’t protect myself there.”

“Protect yourself from who?” Stiles said.

“Hunters,” was all Derek said. Was all he needed to say.

Because he was hurt, weakened with pain. And he wasn’t healing. Stiles pressed his lips together and aimed Betty toward home. His dad would still be at work and their house would be empty. Hopefully the hunters wouldn’t think to look for Derek there.

“Alright,” Stiles said, trying to calm himself down. “Alright. Tell me what happened. Because I am freaking out right now. You don’t even know, you . . . .”

“I got shot,” Derek said.

“You got shot,” Stiles repeated. So many questions were careening around inside his head – who, when, why, how – but the most important was, “So, why aren’t you healing?”

“It wasn’t a regular bullet,” Derek gritted out. “It was different, special . . . .”

Stiles could almost feel the pain Derek was trying to hide. “A special kind of bullet.” Stiles gave a nervous chuckle and in an attempt to lighten the mood, said, “Was it silver?”

Derek glared at him from the backseat. “No. Idiot.”

“Not silver,” Stiles said. “I knew that, by the way.”

Laura had disabused Stiles of many werewolf misconceptions early on. For which Stiles blamed Hollywood. After he’d first been bitten, he’d gone to Laura nearly everyday with a ‘fact’ for her to confirm or toss on the bonfire of mythology. That werewolves were susceptible to silver was one of the first to go.

“Wolfsbane, then?”

“Probably,” Derek said. “I just don’t know which kind.”

“Okay, we’re here,” Stiles said as he pulled into the driveway. He breathed a sigh of relief that his dad’s cruiser was nowhere to be seen.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Derek said when he looked around and realized where Stiles had taken them.

Stiles ignored Derek and got out of Betty. He helped Derek out of the back. Derek looked like he wanted to refuse the aid, but he couldn’t. Needing help made him testy. More testy. Stiles had to bear much of Derek’s weight as they navigated the front steps and hallway until Stiles could deposit him in a chair at the kitchen table.

“Let me see,” Stiles instructed immediately.

Derek gave him a look, but complied with the request. Stiles watched as Derek tried to hide a grimace of pain when he shrugged out of his leather jacket. He clenched his hands into fists to keep from offering assistance that he knew would not be welcome.

Stiles couldn’t just sit and watch, though, when Derek tried to pull the long-sleeved t-shirt over his head. He got a pair of scissors out of the drawer and sliced a line up the outside of the sleeve and along the shoulder seam and collar, and then up the side seam and around the seam at the top of the arm until he met the original cut. Derek glared at him, but Stiles figured that the shirt was a lost cause already from the bullet hole. Stiles set down the scissors and pulled the shirt off Derek, carefully pulling the split material away from his injured arm and then peeling the intact sleeve down his good arm.

Stiles waited until the shirt had been removed before he looked at Derek’s hurt arm. He swallowed back nausea, but couldn’t keep back a small sound of distress at the black lines radiating from the wound. The smell of rot, as if the wolfsbane was eating Derek from the inside, was nearly overpowering. He reached out, fingers hovering over Derek’s arm, afraid to touch.

“What do we do?”

“I need to know what kind of wolfsbane they used,” Derek said. “I need a sample of it.”

“How do we do that?” Stiles said, drawing his hand back.

“We need to get one of their bullets.”

“And how are we supposed to do _that_?” Stiles said. “Do you even know who shot you? Was it . . . ?” Stiles had to wet his mouth before he could continue. “Was it Mr. Argent?”

“No,” Derek said.

“Then how are we even gonna find them?” Stiles said, panicking. “Do you know who they are, or where they’re staying?”

“Yes.”

“Yes. Yes, what?”

“I know who shot me.” Derek winced, as if merely speaking the words caused him pain. “It was Kate Argent. And I’m pretty sure we both know where she’s staying.”

Stiles wanted to be sick at the thought that Kate, who’d already taken so much from Derek, had also shot him with a wolfsbane bullet. He hid his concern behind anger.

“See, _this_? This is why I need to be able to contact you. Granted, this morning when I found out that Kate was here would’ve been too late to prevent this, but, I don’t know, maybe you could’ve called me last night _when you’d been shot_. Or maybe you could have crawled in my window, which you have no problem doing any other time, to, I know it sounds crazy, _ask for help_ before . . . .” Stiles gestured at Derek’s arm.

“Are you done now?”

“No,” Stiles reflexively replied. “Yes, for now. But we’re not done discussing this.”

“Then maybe we can figure out how we’re going to get the bullet.”

“Oh, you mean, how we’re going to sneak into the house full of _hunters_ , one of whom has already shot you, and steal one of their bullets?”

“Yes.”

Stiles threw his hands up in exasperation. “What if we can’t?”

“Then we go to Plan B. But let’s see what we can do with Plan A first, okay?”

Derek looked like he could barely talk, much less remain upright in the chair, and Stiles suddenly felt guilty for letting his own fear overwhelm him.

“Yeah, okay.” Stiles ran both hands over his head. “Okay. Plan A. Stealing a wolfsbane bullet out from under the noses of a family of hunters. I almost feel like there should be a joke here. A werewolf and a hunter walk into a bar . . . .”

Derek’s lips tightened and Stiles’ gaze dropped to the arm Derek had propped on the table.

“Okay, alright, down to business. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that you won’t be sneaking into any windows.”

Derek glared at him, which Stiles took as a good sign.

“Okay, then, _I’ll_ climb in their window,” Stiles said.

“No.”

“Why not?” Stiles said. “I could totally do the ninja werewolf thing, climb the side of the house, or a tree, swing onto the roof.”

Derek shook his head. “They’re hunters. Their home will be as werewolf proof as they can make it. In addition to regular security – cameras, alarms -- they’ll have traps. We don’t have time to find them all, much less disable them.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, refusing to be discouraged. “If I can’t sneak in, I’ll go right through the front door. I’ll pretend I need to see Scott.”

“Scott’s already there?” Derek said.

“Yeah, he went over after school with Allison. Why . . . .? Oh, no.” Stiles shook his head. “Scott is my best friend, and I am not going to throw him to the wolves, werewolf hunters,” he amended at the look on Derek’s face. “Besides, as much as I love him, Scott’s not the brightest bulb in the box. There is no way he’d be able to pull it off.”

~*~

“How am I supposed to pull that off?” Scott practically shrieked into the phone. “I mean, do you have any idea how many bullets there are in this place?”

Stiles had to pull the phone away from his ear. Instead of screaming back that he didn’t know how he was going to pull it off, Stiles tried to keep his voice even when he answered Scott. “It’ll probably be in Kate’s room, or in her car. It won’t look like a regular bullet.”

“That’s not much help when I’ve never even seen a regular bullet in real life,” Scott said. “And how am I supposed to get away from everyone?”

“I don’t know, say you have to go to the bathroom.”

“That’s where I am now!”

“Tell ‘em you’ve got intestinal issues,” Stiles suggested, shrugging at Derek.

Scott made a sound of annoyance. “My pants kept buzzing. You sent me fifteen texts!”

“You weren’t answering!”

“They probably think I’m crazy with all the twitching I was doing!”

“That might help actually.”

“You mean if I get caught. Wait, what if I get caught?”

Stiles pushed down his own concern over what would happen to Scott if he got caught. “You’re not going to get caught.”

“But what if I do?”

“Then tell them you’re a kleptomaniac and you can’t resist cool, shiny things. Like a magpie.”

“What kind of pie?”

Stiles pulled the phone away and stared at it before replacing it to his ear.

“Allison is going to hate me if I she finds out about this,” Scott was saying.

“Derek is doing to _die_ if you don’t do this,” Stiles said.

Derek held out his hand and waggled his fingers. Stiles set the phone in his palm.

“Scott,” Derek said. “You’re going to be fine. I know you’re scared, but you can do this. When you find the bullet I need you to send Stiles a picture of it, and then bring it here as quickly as you can.”

Stiles caught the phone before Derek dropped it. “Scott?”

“I’m here.”

“Good luck. And thank you. I owe you one.”

Scott snorted. “Dude, you owe me way more than one.”

“Okay, just hurry.”

“No pressure then,” Scott said.

Stiles disconnected and stood staring off in the distance. “I can’t believe we did that,” he said. “Put Scott in danger.”

“He’ll be fine,” Derek said, though it sounded as if it was just as much to reassure himself as Stiles. Stiles could understand that, since Derek’s life depended on Scott being fine. Still.

“He’s inside a house of hunters.”

“Werewolf hunters. They don’t kill humans,” Derek said.

Stiles didn’t remind Derek that some of the people in his family had been human. He didn’t think now was the time. “Not even if they discover them stealing a wolfsbane bullet?” he said.

Derek didn’t answer, and Stiles wanted to yell at him, but Derek’s eyes were closed and his features tight with pain.

“Derek.”

Stiles’ heart stopped when Derek didn’t answer. He touched Derek’s face gently and spoke his name again. When he still didn’t answer, Stiles slapped Derek’s face as hard as he could. Derek’s eyes shot open and he glared at Stiles, but it was muted by the pain.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” Stiles said. “No, don’t close your eyes, you need to stay awake.” Stiles didn’t know if that was right or not, but it sounded good.

“Talk to me,” Stiles said, figuring it would help Derek remain awake. At Derek’s half-hearted glare Stiles said, “Yeah, yeah, I know, you hate to talk. Well, that’s too bad, because it’ll help you stay awake. And I need . . . . Hey, Derek!” Derek’s eyes slitted open when Stiles touched his face.

“I’ve got an idea.” Stiles ignored Derek’s pitiful attempt to roll his eyes. “Why don’t you tell me what you were doing last night when you got shot.”

Derek groaned miserably.

“Being shot and poisoned with wolfsbane, you’re all stoic, but the thought of having to talk makes you whimper like a baby? I’m not buying it.”

Derek’s eyes snapped open and he growled.

“That’s what I thought. Now start talking.”

Derek sighed. “I was tracking the . . . .”

“You were tracking the other werewolf?” Stiles finished when Derek hesitated.

A look of relief crossed Derek’s face, and then was drowned out by the pain. “Yes.”

“You just happened to be out there and crossed paths with both the werewolf and a hunter,” Stiles said.

“I didn’t . . . just happen . . . to be out there,” Derek said slowly as he fought off a wave of pain. “I’ve been going out . . . every night . . . looking for it.”

“You’ve been . . . .” Stiles had to take a deep breath. “Why did you keep that from me?” Derek opened his mouth to answer, but Stiles went on before he could. “I could’ve helped.”

Derek shook his head. “That’s exactly what I didn’t want.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re young. Not in years, but that, too. You’ve been a werewolf for less than two months, you’re still learning.”

Stiles hated to admit that Derek was right about that, but he could barely fight off a tennis ball much less another werewolf. He’d have been in over his head.

“I want to keep you safe,” Derek said, the words slipping out almost against his will.

“I don’t need you to keep me safe,” Stiles said reflexively.

“He’ll want you . . . ,” Derek said. “Laura . . . you’re mine to protect.”

Stiles didn’t want to think about how Derek’s words made him feel. He changed the subject. “Anything else you’re keeping from me?”

Derek closed his eyes and didn’t answer.

“That’s what I thought.” Stiles glanced at the clock and jumped when Derek spoke.

“How long has it been?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Feels longer,” Derek said.

Stiles snorted. “You can say that again.”

“Feels longer,” Derek repeated.

“Oh, sure, _now_ you get a sense of humor.”

~*~

“We need to start thinking about Plan B,” Derek said, breaking the silence that had fallen.

“What is Plan B?”

Instead of answering, Derek said, “Where does your dad keep his tools?”

“Garage. Why?”

“Show me.” Derek stood and Stiles reached out to steady him when he wobbled. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” Stiles said. He grabbed the key off the hook by the kitchen door that led out to the small patio where they had the grill, and the stepping stones that led to the garage. Despite the growl, Stiles helped Derek down the steps and over to the garage, where he leaned against the building while Stiles unlocked the door.

Stiles stood in the middle of the garage while Derek prowled around, examining all of Stiles’ dad’s tools. It had been a while since Stiles had seen his dad use any of them. “What are you looking for?”

Derek didn’t answer. Leaning heavily on the bench, Derek lifted something off the wall. Stiles didn’t see what it was until Derek turned around. His stomach clenched.

“What’s that for?” Stiles asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

“If Scott doesn’t get here in time . . . .”

Stiles shook his head as tears burned behind his eyes.

“. . . I need you to cut off my arm,” Derek finished.

“No,” Stiles said. He couldn’t. “I can’t.”

“You have to,” Derek said calmly. “If the poison reaches my heart I’m going to die.”

“No, Derek . . . you are not . . . Scott will get here in time.”

“Maybe. But maybe not. We need to be prepared.”

“This, this is not _prepared_ ,” Stiles said. “This is _defeatist_. Pessimistic. And we are not . . . we are the _epitome_ of optimism.”

“Stiles.”

“No, Derek. No.”

Derek had moved closer while Stiles had been freaking out. He grabbed the back of Stiles’ neck and squeezed. “Stiles.”

As much as he wanted to run away, Stiles pushed into Derek’s hand. “I can’t . . . don’t make me do that to you.”

“I’m sorry that I have to ask you to do this,” Derek said, “but there’s no one else.”

And wasn’t that a kick in the nuts.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Stiles said.

“I know.”

That was it. No platitudes, or empty promises, just that honest, simple statement. Stiles didn’t want to think about what he might have to do to save Derek’s life. He wanted to tell Derek that he was asking too much of him, but he was right – there was no one else Derek could ask.

Derek tugged Stiles’ head towards him, but Stiles railed at the closeness as if at their fate, ineffectually punching Derek’s chest, pushing against him as if Derek was the thing he was fighting against, instead of fighting for. When he realized that Stiles relented. He allowed Derek to press his face to his shoulder. Stiles breathed deeply, inhaling Derek’s scent.

Stiles hadn’t felt this mind-numbing fear before – not when he’d realized that Derek wasn’t healing, not even when they didn’t know how they were going to get the bullet. Not until Derek showed him the saw and brought home the severity of the injury he’d been dealt. Not just that the bullet wound wasn’t healing, but that he’d been poisoned from it.

“I don’t want you to die,” Stiles said, pressing his face more firmly to Derek’s shoulder.

“That makes two of us,” Derek said.

Stiles put his arms around Derek and squeezed, as if by holding him there, holding him close, he could save him.

“I’m not going to die,” Derek said firmly.

“Damn right you’re not.” Stiles took a deep breath, steadying and full of Derek’s scent, and released him, stepping back.

“What are you doing?” Derek asked when Stiles pulled out his cell.

“Texting Scott.”

Stiles sent an ‘urgent, code red’ text and then pocketed his phone. He stared at the bench where Derek had set the saw. Derek followed the direction of his gaze. Before Derek could say anything, Stiles squared his shoulders and marched over to the bench. He couldn’t keep his hands from shaking when he reached out to pick up the saw.

When Stiles turned around Derek was looking at him with a question on his face. “I’m not cutting off your arm with this dirty thing,” Stiles said. “It needs to be cleaned and disinfected.”

Stiles didn’t know if Derek didn’t say anything about that because he agreed, or because he thought Stiles needed something to keep himself busy so he didn’t think about what he was going to have to do. _Might_ have to do. Not that it mattered what Derek thought, because, werewolf healing or not, Stiles wasn’t taking the chance that Derek got an infection from the dirty saw.

“Hey,” Stiles said, suddenly struck with a thought. “You’re not going to bleed out, are you, if I . . . ?”

“No,” Derek said. “It’ll heal.”

Derek’s strength, now that he’d convinced Stiles to perform this horrible (if necessary) deed, seemed to falter. Stiles caught him under his good arm before he could fall.

“Come on, let’s get back inside.” Stiles didn’t bother closing, much less locking, the garage door. Hopefully he’d be returning the saw (unused, if much cleaner) to its nail very soon.

“You’d better be right,” Stiles said as he helped Derek back to the house. “If you bleed out all over the kitchen floor after all my hard work trying to save your ungrateful ass, well, let’s just say I’m gonna be pissed.”

“You’re such a comfort to me,” Derek said dryly.

“You’re welcome,” Stiles said. “But I’m just saying. Besides, blood’s a bitch to clean up. You can never get it all.” He knew this because he loved to watch shows on forensics and then pick his father’s brain. No matter how well you thought you cleaned it up, blood always came back to bite you in the ass.

“I mean, say I go missing one day . . . .”

“Could that day be now?”

“Funny.” Stiles carefully lowered Derek onto the chair he’d vacated earlier, and then continued with his hypothetical as he went over to the cupboard under the sink for the anti-bacterial spray cleanser. “So, I’m missing, and my dad naturally calls in law enforcement. They start looking for clues, fingerprints and hair and fibers, and they find blood. So they luminal the entire kitchen and discover this huge pool of blood. Only it’s not mine, so it looks like we murdered someone in our kitchen.”

“Jesus, your brain,” Derek said, sounding as if his own brain was hurting just from trying to keep up.

“It’s a gift,” Stiles said as he wiped down the saw, scraping zealously at dirt and rust build up. “Speaking of my dad, what are we gonna tell him?”

“Nothing,” Derek growled.

Stiles rolled his eyes at Derek’s conclusion jumping. “Not about werewolves. I realize that this Carol Anne crush thing has him questioning his observational skills, but I’m pretty sure he’ll notice the missing arm.”

Stiles was trying to be brave and sound matter-of-fact, but that last bit came out a little choked up.

“I realize that you kind of suck at it, but it’s your job to come up with that lie. I’ve been carrying all the lie-telling weight in this relationship, and that’s going to end right now.”

Stiles patted the saw blade dry with a paper towel. “You think about that while I go get the alcohol.”

Stiles’ phone beeped to let him know that he’d gotten a text message and he hurried back to the kitchen with the bottle of alcohol in one hand and his cell phone in the other. Derek hadn’t moved. He opened his eyes when Stiles returned, and tried to sit up straighter when Stiles held up the phone and said, “Scott sent the picture.”

There were two pictures attached to the text message. One was a full length shot of the bullet (which looked huge to Stiles, and he didn’t want to think about Derek being shot with it), and the other was the top, where something had been stamped in what looked like Latin to Stiles’ untrained eye. Stiles showed the photos to Derek, and then opened up the Latin translator app on his phone and typed in the Latin words. “Nordic blue monkshood?” Stiles read off the translation to Derek.

Derek nodded. “It’s a rare form of wolfsbane.”

 _that’s the 1_ , Stiles sent back. _hurry_

Stiles set his cell phone on the table so they could hear the ringtone when the next text message from Scott came in and reluctantly returned to his previous job. He stood the saw on its end in the sink and poured alcohol over both sides of the blade to disinfect it, then laid it across the dish drainer to air dry. With nothing else to do to keep himself busy, Stiles walked back over to Derek. 

Stiles looked at Derek. In some respects he looked like be normally did – jaw clenched tight, eyes shooting daggers, but beneath it Stiles could see the pain he was trying to hide, the uncertainty that anything they were doing would help, the loneliness he wore like a cloak even though Stiles was right there.

“I know you’re in pain right now,” Stiles said, “but I don’t know how else to do this.”

Derek shot a pain-glazed glare in Stiles’ direction, but Stiles ignored it. Careful of the arm Derek rested on the table, Stiles slid onto Derek’s lap and curled one arm around his shoulders to hold himself on.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

Derek refused to bend his head, so Stiles leaned into him, pressed his cheek to the side of Derek’s head. Despite himself, Derek started to relax as he breathed in Stiles’ scent, the tension easing from his shoulders. Stiles couldn’t do anything about the pain, but he decided to take his victories where he could find them. Stiles felt himself relaxing, as well, as they took comfort in the scent, in the touch of each other.

It was Derek who broke the silence. “I need to tell you something. In case . . . . You should know this.”

Stiles didn’t even lift his head. “You’re going to be fine. But tell me anyway, because confession is good for the soul, and I could tell that you were keeping something from me.”

“The werewolf,” Derek said. “It’s an alpha.”

Stiles’ head shot up. “It’s a what?”

“It’s an alpha,” Derek repeated, even though he narrowed his eyes at Stiles when he did so.

“But . . . how?” Stiles said. “Laura said it was a rogue werewolf, probably an omega.”

“It probably was,” Derek said. “Before it killed Laura.”

“What?” Stiles said, not liking where his brain was taking him. “You mean it _became_ an alpha when it killed Laura?”

Derek nodded. “Yes.”

“Well, what kind of stupid evolutionary rule is that?” Stiles said. “Some, some rogue werewolf can just come in and _kill_ someone for no good reason, and take their, their status, or whatever?”

“Yes,” Derek said.

“Well, that sucks! That . . . .”

Derek slapped the back of Stiles’ head to shut him up and get his attention.

“Ow.” Stiles rubbed the offended spot.

“Rant later, listen now.”

Stiles lowered his hand. “Okay.”

“He’s going to come after you, especially if I’m gone.”

“What do you mean, he’s going to come after me?” Stiles squeaked, his blood running cold. “To kill me?”

“He’ll want you to be part of his pack.”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, well, he can just kiss my . . . . Listening now,” he said at Derek’s look.

“If you refuse to join him, _then_ he’ll kill you.”

“Awesome,” Stiles said. “Why me? I mean, not that I want him to bite someone else, but, why?”

“He’ll be able to sense that you’re Laura’s,” Derek said. “If you agree to join his pack, he’ll see you as an ally. If you refuse, you’ll be a threat to him.”

“Because he killed Laura.”

“Partly, yes.”

“Is that why you’ve been going out alone?”

Derek shrugged. “The longer until he finds you, gets your scent, the better.”

Stiles nodded. He could agree with that. He was struck with a thought. “Is that why _you_ like me?”

“Who said I like you?”

Stiles bumped their foreheads together. “You do. You can admit it. But is it because I’m Laura’s? Or just because I’m naturally awesome?”

“Laura bit you,” Derek said. “Which makes you pack.”

“Do you have to like everyone in your pack?”

“Not always,” Derek said. “It’s complicated. Even if you don’t like someone you still feel . . . .”

“Sort of like when we first met and I thought you were a dick but I still wanted to cuddle with you?” Stiles said, grinning.

Derek snarled. “Yeah, sort of like that.”

Stiles hummed in satisfaction. “Would you have wanted to bite me if you’d met me when I was human?”

“Would I have had to listen to you talk first?”

“Ha!” Stiles said. He curled his fingers into the hair growing in Derek’s nape. “You would’ve.”

They sat like that for a minute, just breathing the other in. Stiles thought about what Derek had just told him about the other werewolf.

“So right now he’s an alpha without a pack, right?”

“Yes,” Derek confirmed.

“So he’s weak?”

“For an alpha, yes. But he’s still stronger than we are.”

“Well, crap.” There went that thought.

Derek squeezed Stiles’ shoulder, slowly slid his hand down to Stiles’ hip. “Stiles, it’s time.”

“Time for what?” Stiles said, then stiffened when he realized what Derek was talking about.

“We can’t wait any longer.”

Tears burning his eyes, Stiles squeezed Derek hard and pressed them together as if he could make them melt into one another.

“Stiles.”

“I know,” Stiles said, pulling away. He couldn’t do this. Where the hell was Scott? Even though he hadn’t heard the tone to let him know Scott had texted, Stiles checked his phone just in case.

Stiles stood and looked at Derek. He looked worse, as if all the energy he’d been expending on Stiles’ behalf had drained him. Derek looked like death warmed over, it hit Stiles, because he was _dying_. And however gruesome the task, Stiles was the only one who could prevent it. Stiles reached out to help Derek stand.

“Don’t,” Derek said. He reached up with his bad arm despite the pain it caused him, and wiped away Stiles’ tears with the pad of his thumb. “I need you to be able to cut in a straight line.”

Stiles huffed out a laugh that was full of tears and snot. He blew his nose and wiped his eyes, and then picked up the saw. When he turned around, Derek was leaning heavily on the island, as if he was too weak to hold up his own weight now.

Stiles didn’t want to do this in the kitchen, where every time they ate he’d remember Derek’s chopped off arm lying there. But the kitchen had the convenience of the island and ease of clean up. Besides, it didn’t look like Derek could make it even outside to the small patio, much less inside the garage where they’d have more privacy.

Stiles got out the heavy duty plastic cutting board and dropped it onto the island. Derek managed to raise his eyebrows at it.

“My dad’ll probably not notice a missing cutting board . . . .” There was no way he was using that cutting board for anything, ever again. “But he’ll definitely notice deep gouges from a saw in the counter top.”

Stiles watched as Derek stoically pulled the cutting board over and arranged it under his arm.

“This is going to suck so much,” Stiles said.

Derek looked at him.

“For you, too, of course,” Stiles said. “Is there any way to make this easier? On you, I mean. Knock you out, or . . . ?”

“No.”

“Okay. Um. Okay. I’ll just . . . .”

“Stiles.”

“Yes?”

“Just do it. It’s not going to get any easier.”

“Yeah.” Stiles joined Derek on the other side of the island. He set the blade against Derek’s skin above the black marks extending up his arm, and grabbed his arm for leverage.

“You’ll have to use your strength to get through the bone.”

“Jesus,” Stiles swore, and tried not to gag. “Yeah, okay.” Stiles blinked quickly to keep the tears from clouding his vision. He adjusted his grip on the handle, and just as he was ready to draw the blade back and bear down, the front door slammed open.

“Stiles!” Scott yelled.

“Fuck,” Stiles breathed out as relief suffused him, leaving him feeling weak. He forced his fingers to open and dropped the saw on the counter. He flexed his fingers to ease the cramping in his hand from gripping the handle so tightly.

“I got it!” Scott said as he came skidding into the kitchen brandishing the bullet.

“I could kiss you right now,” Stiles said.

Scott slanted a worried glance towards Derek as he handed over the bullet to Stiles.

Stiles caught the look. “Derek’ll kiss you, too.” He gave the bullet to Derek. “What do we do with it?”

Derek gave Stiles a look as he took the bullet. As far as his usual glares went, it was weak, but Stiles appreciated the effort.

“I need something to put it in. Not plastic or anything that will melt.”

Stiles reached into the cupboard for the glass bowl in which he normally scrambled their eggs. He set it under Derek’s hand just as he twisted the bullet apart and emptied the wolfsbane into the bowl, being careful not to get it on his skin.

“Lighter,” Derek said.

Stiles opened the drawer for the lighter they used to start the grill when it was being ornery, closing the drawer on his fingers in his haste. He passed over the lighter with his uninjured hand and sucked on the fingers he’d pinched. He and Scott watched with interest as Derek put the lighter to the wolfsbane and set it aflame. It flared up and quickly burned out.

Derek dropped the lighter and dumped the burnt wolfsbane onto his arm and pressed it deep into the bullet wound. He made a sound deep in his throat, like a wild animal in pain, which made the hair stand up on the back of Stiles’ neck, and then started to slide backwards off the island as his legs gave out beneath him. Stiles darted around the island and caught Derek just before his head hit the floor.

“Derek?” Stiles said worriedly as he rested Derek’s shoulders on his knees.

Derek didn’t respond. His eyes were closed tight, his jaw clenched against the pain, his body rigid in Stiles’ arms as the antidote (anti-wolfsbane?) worked to neutralize the poison in Derek’s system. For a moment Stiles didn’t know if it would even work, or whether they’d been too late to attempt it. He cradled the side of Derek’s face in his palm and pressed his lips to Derek’s forehead. Please be alright, he thought, please . . . .

Stiles kept his eyes glued to Derek’s arm, sobbing with relief when the black lines started to recede, and then disappeared completely, the bullet wound closing up as if it had never been there.

“Wow,” Scott said. “What the hell just happened?”

“Derek,” Stiles tried again. “Derek, are you alright?”

“I was shot and poisoned,” Derek complained, eyes snapping open. “Of course I’m not alright.”

Stiles sobbed out a laugh. “I never thought I’d say it, but I missed your grouchy ass.”

“I’m not being grouchy,” Derek said. Grouchily. “It _hurts_.”

“I know,” Stiles said. Derek had done a pretty good job of hiding how much pain he was in, but he couldn’t hide it from Stiles.

Stiles sat Derek up and propped him against the island. He got out a cloth and wet it, then wiped the pain-fear-death sweat off Derek’s face and neck. Derek tried to push Stiles’ hands away.

“What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing? My mom used to do this for me when I had a fever. It made me feel better.”

“I don’t have a fever.”

“Same principle.”

Stiles drew the cloth over Derek’s chest and good arm, hesitating before touching the injured arm, even though it appeared completely healed.

“You can touch it,” Derek said. “The arm doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Which meant something else did. “Where does it hurt?” Stiles said as he gently wiped off Derek’s arm.

Derek gritted his teeth against answering.

“Spill,” Stiles said.

“Everywhere,” Derek admitted. “It just . . . aches,” he said, as if he wasn’t used to it.

“Like you’ve been poisoned and magically healed, you mean? Surprising.”

Derek growled. Stiles swatted his nose with the cloth. Derek’s eyes opened wide in surprise.

“Speaking of magical healing,” Scott said as if he was afraid to speak of it. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Yes,” Stiles said at the same time Derek growled, “No.”

“Yes,” Stiles repeated, this time to Derek. “He deserves to know.”

They’d put Scott’s life in danger, even if he wasn’t fully aware of the fact yet, but Stiles’ decision to tell him wasn’t based solely on guilt. He’d been wanting to share this secret with Scott, and it was becoming obvious (to him, at least), that two lone werewolves, even if they were part of a pack, were not going to be able to catch a rogue werewolf (that just happened to have gained the powers of an alpha) and go up against a family of hunters without help.

“And we may need his help again.” We’re not using him again without full disclosure, Stiles tried to tell Derek with his eyes.

“What’s the saw doing here?” Scott asked.

Stiles stood up and tossed the cloth into the sink. “ _That_ you don’t want to know,” Stiles said as he reached for the saw. “I’m gonna go put it back in the garage.”

Stiles couldn’t stand to look at the saw, knowing what he’d almost been forced to do with it. He wasn’t sure he’d even be able to pull out the cutting board without remembering the use to which it had nearly been put.

When Stiles returned to the kitchen, Derek had pulled himself up onto one of the chairs. He and Scott were staring at each other. Derek’s nostrils flared and he turned his glare onto Stiles.

“That doesn’t work on me anymore,” Stiles lied. “We’re telling him. What we asked him to do was dangerous.”

“It was?” Scott squeaked.

“If we’re going to ask for his help . . . .” And Stiles was pretty sure they’d need it again. “Then he deserves to know what he’s getting into.”

Stiles could tell that Derek still disagreed (strenuously) with his decision, but he didn’t say anything else to argue against it. Stiles could understand his point. Derek had been taught secrecy all his life, and he’d lost nearly his entire support system at a young age. He found it difficult to trust anyone, much less someone who was human. And dating a hunter’s daughter. Especially an Argent.

“You can trust Scott,” Stiles said. “I’d trust him with my life.”

“You are,” Derek said. “And mine.”

“Need I remind you that he’s already saved your life once?” Stiles said.

“Um, trust me about what?” Scott said impatiently.

Stiles ignored Derek and turned his full attention to Scott. “It’s a really long story, and I’ll tell you everything later, but I’m going to give you the short version first. Short and sweet.”

“This is the short version?” Scott said.

Derek snorted.

“Fine,” Stiles said. “Here it is. Three words: I’m a werewolf.”

~*~*~*~

“So does this mean that you and Derek really _aren’t_ dating?” Scott said.

“ _That’s_ what you get out of all of that?”

Scott hadn’t believed him at first, which was perfectly natural. Stiles hadn’t believed Laura at first, either, and he’d been _turned into_ a werewolf. So Stiles showed his new amber eyes, fangs, and claws to Scott, who had sat down hard in the kitchen chair opposite Derek upon seeing them, and swallowed just as hard when Stiles had convinced Derek to show Scott his blue eyes. Once Scott was on board with the whole werewolf thing, Stiles had given him the Cliff Notes version, telling Scott about Laura being the werewolf that had bitten him, explaining that her tutoring him in math had in fact been a cover for her to teach him how to be a werewolf, and even admitting that there was a special closeness between him and Derek because they were both members of Laura’s pack.

Scott shrugged now. “You have to admit that it looked . . . suspicious,” he said.

“I don’t have to admit any such thing,” Stiles said. “Besides, we both told you we weren’t dating.”

“You weren’t very convincing,” Scott said. “But,” he went on before Stiles could speak, “it’s actually a relief to know that you’re not . . . .” He gestured between Stiles and Derek. “You know.”

Stiles flushed when he was reminded of Scott’s concern that Derek might be ‘rough’. If Derek noticed Stiles’ reaction, he didn’t say anything, probably presuming it was because of the conversation generally and not Scott’s specific concerns about their non-existent sexual encounters. To take attention off himself, Stiles poked Derek in the shoulder.

“I know he looks like a growly bear on the outside, but on the inside he’s a marshmallow.”

Derek dropped his fangs and snarled at Stiles. Scott yelped and jumped backwards. Stiles poked his finger at the fangs and continued baiting Derek.

“A pussy cat?”

Derek snapped at Stiles’ finger. Stiles squealed and drew the finger back. He checked to make sure he still had his whole finger.

“Jesus, you’re fast.” He looked at Derek. “A cuddly teddy bear?”

Derek curled his lips back.

“Okay, fine, you’re as growly on the inside as you are on the outside. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Derek said.

“See?” Stiles said to Scott. “Nothing weird going on.”

“Okay?” Scott said.

“You can’t tell anyone,” Stiles reiterated. “I mean _anyone_. Not your mom, not Allison, no one.” Especially not Allison, Stiles thought.

“Does your dad know?” Scott asked.

“No,” Stiles said, feeling a twinge of guilt. “Scott, it’s important. Like, life or death important.”

“I won’t,” Scott said. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Stiles spit in his palm and held out his hand to Scott. Scott blinked but didn’t hesitate to spit in his own palm and clasp Stiles’ hand. Derek raised his eyebrows as they shook on it.

“Too disgusting for you?” Stiles said.

“No. It’s just that I prefer a blood oath.”

Scott made a sound.

“He’s kidding,” Stiles said. He kicked Derek’s leg. “Tell him you’re kidding.”

The smile Derek gave Scott was all teeth. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Okay, look,” Stiles said. “There’s a lot more to tell you . . . .” He’d barely scratched the surface of the whole werewolf business, and hadn’t even touched on the hunters or the murders. “But right now, my dad will be home any minute and we have to look as normal as possible.”

Derek and Scott just stared at him. Stiles shook his head.

“Never mind. Just help me figure out something for dinner.”

“Maybe we should also find Derek a shirt,” Scott suggested.

“That’s your help?” Stiles said distractedly as he went through the cupboards.

“Unless coming home and finding Derek sitting in the kitchen without his shirt on is a normal occurrence for your dad. And if it is, please don’t tell me.”

Stiles looked over his shoulder at Derek, who looked disgustingly hot even moments after being at death’s door, and who was currently glaring at Stiles from beneath his eyebrows. “Point taken,” Stiles said. “Go grab him one of my shirts.”

“Your shirts’ll be too small,” Derek said, sounding angry at the idea.

“Fine, then one of my dad’s shirts.”

“I’m not wearing one of your dad’s shirts,” Derek said.

“Don’t worry,” Stiles said. “It doesn’t mean you’re going steady.”

Stiles grinned when Derek snarled at him.

~*~

They were sitting in the living room, Derek resting on the couch at Stiles’ insistence (despite Derek’s insistence that he was fine), when Stiles’ dad got home. Stiles heard him pull into the driveway and went to the door to meet him.

“Hey, Dad.”

Stiles’ dad raised his eyebrows when he saw Stiles waiting inside the door. “Stiles.” He hung up his hat and coat. “Please tell me it’s not bad news.”

Stiles smiled. “That depends on how you define bad news.”

“You failed an exam, or brussels sprouts for dinner.”

“Neither of those,” Stiles said.

His dad gave him a ‘then what is it’ look.

“Derek and Scott are here,” Stiles said. “Derek wasn’t feeling well so I didn’t really have much time to plan supper. For which they are both staying.”

“That’s okay,” his dad said. “It shouldn’t be your responsibility all the time, anyway, even though it usually falls to you. But no brussels sprouts, right?”

Stiles assured him that there weren’t.

“Where is everyone?”

“Living room.”

Stiles followed his dad into the living room. He wiped his palms on his jeans. He knew that there was no way his dad could figure out everything that had happened there that afternoon, but it still made him nervous.

“Scott,” Stiles’ dad greeted.

“Mr. Stilinski, hi,” Scott said.

“Derek.”

“Sir.”

“Stiles said you weren’t feeling well.”

Derek shot Stiles a glare. “I’m fine.”

“He’s reached the grumpy stage,” Stiles said.

“I’m not. Grumpy.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better, then,” Stiles’ dad said. “And I like your shirt.”

Derek’s lips twisted up when he remembered the t-shirt Scott had brought down for him to wear. Instead of complaining about the “Sheriff’s Do It With Handcuffs” imprinted across the front (which he had done for a full fifteen minutes after being handed the shirt), he said, “I needed to borrow a shirt. I hope you don’t mind. I’ll get it back to you.”

“I don’t mind,” Stiles’ dad said. “A gift from Stiles that I, very sadly, had little occasion to wear.” He didn’t sound very sad about it at all. “It looks better on you. Which I, honestly, don’t want to think about. Or why Stiles chose it.”

“I didn’t choose it!” Stiles squawked.

He and Derek both looked at Scott. Well, Stiles looked; Derek glared.

“I didn’t want to go through your drawers!” Scott told Stiles’ dad. “I just grabbed what was on top! It was folded. It just looked like a white t-shirt,” he ended miserably.

“Relax, Scott. I’m sure Derek appreciates the gesture.”

Derek didn’t look all that appreciative, but he ground out a, “Yes, of course.”

Stiles’ dad turned his face away from Derek so he couldn’t see the grin he wore, and gave Derek a comradely pat on the shoulder. “I got time for a shower?” he asked Stiles.

“Yes,” Stiles said. “You _have_ time for a shower.”

“Smart ass,” his dad said, swatting Stiles on said body part as he passed him on the way to the stairs.

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” Stiles told Derek and Scott. “You two behave.”

“Don’t you need any help?” Scott asked hopefully.

“No, I’ve got it under control,” Stiles said. “You two get to know each other.”

“Is that really necessary?” Scott said with a nervous glance at Derek.

“You’re the one who said you wanted to get to know Derek, even double date,” Stiles said, enjoying himself immensely now that the tables were turned.

“That’s when I thought you were dating. And before I knew he could literally tear my throat out. With his teeth.”

“Don’t be afraid. Remember, cuddly teddy bear. And besides, Derek loves to talk about himself.”

Stiles chuckled to himself as Derek’s low growl followed him out to the kitchen.

~*~

After a simple meal of chicken noodle soup and grilled tomato and cheese sandwiches, Stiles drove Scott and Derek home. He dropped off Scott first, waiting while he got his bike out of the back. He promised to explain everything later, and extracted another promise of his own.

“I know,” Scott said. “I won’t tell anyone. I swear.”

“Are you going to be alright out here,” Stiles said as he drove Derek out to the Hale house. “You could’ve stayed in our guest room.”

Stiles’ dad had actually been the one to issue the invitation, which went to show just how bad Derek still looked.

“I’ll be fine,” Derek said.

Which is what he’d also said when Stiles’ dad had suggested it, though more politely, and with a ‘thank you for the offer’ attached.

“You’re not _fine_ , Derek,” Stiles said, glad to finally be able to say what he’d been thinking. “You nearly _died_.”

“But I didn’t,” Derek said. “And I’m completely healed now. Besides, I was only mostly-dead.”

“Are you seriously quoting “The Princess Bride” to me right now?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“You’re just trying to distract me,” Stiles said.

“Did it work?”

“No. Well, yes, but only for a minute. Because this is important, darn it!” Stiles hit the side of his fist against the steering wheel.

“I know,” Derek admitted, which surprised Stiles into silence.

But just because his mouth wasn’t moving didn’t mean his brain wasn’t whirring with the horrible possibilities. He’d been so busy before just dealing with the fact that Derek had been shot and poisoned, doing whatever he could, whatever he _had_ to, to keep Derek alive, that he hadn’t had time to freak out. Not properly freak out, anyway. Then he’d had to tell Scott about being a werewolf, and get dinner ready all while hiding everything from his dad.

But now that it was all over Stiles had time – too much time – to think about it. Think about the what ifs. What if Scott had been too late? What if Stiles had cut off Derek’s arm and the poison had still reached his heart anyway? What if Scott had been caught by the Argents? What if Derek hadn’t known what to do with the wolfsbane? What if Derek hadn’t found him at the school?

“Stiles.”

Derek’s voice finally penetrated the panic enveloping Stiles.

“Stiles, breathe.”

“I can’t,” Stiles said. He came out of his thoughts enough to realize that he’d successfully navigated the driveway and had parked in the shadow of what remained of the burnt out Hale house before he’d gone into full-fledged panic mode. “Panic attack,” he gasped out to Derek.

Stiles’ heart was racing. He could feel it beating against his chest in a bid to escape. He was sweating and his hands were shaking. His stomach roiled as if he might throw up, and his head swam with dizziness.

“Stiles,” Derek said calmly. “You need to breathe.”

Like he didn’t fucking know that! Stiles tried to glare at Derek in a manner that said ‘no shit, Sherlock’, but he was pretty certain he didn’t quite achieve his goal. Derek grabbed Stiles by the front of his hoodie and dragged him into the passenger seat and then out of the Jeep. Ow, Stiles thought, as he banged his head and shins. That was going to leave a mark. Oh, no it wouldn’t, Stiles remembered. The bruises were probably already healing.

Derek pushed Stiles up against Betty. “Stiles, you’re fine.” He touched the side of Stiles’ face and looked into his eyes. “Breathe, damn it!”

Stiles wanted to laugh. Wanted to tell Derek that his bedside manner sucked donkey balls. But he couldn’t draw enough air into his lungs for either. Derek made a face, as if he’d just stepped in something that smelled bad, and dragged Stiles off the Jeep and up against him. He pressed Stiles’ face to his own neck and put his arm around Stiles’ back, holding him in place like a band of steel.

“I’m fine, Stiles,” Derek said. “I’m healed. I’m alive. You did good.”

Stiles didn’t know which sense finally broke through the panic in his brain, maybe it took all three of them – Derek’s scent in his nostrils, the grumbly sound of his voice in his ears, the feel of his arms around him. Once he was able to, Stiles did the breathing exercise he’d been taught, using his diaphragm and inhaling for a count of five seconds, holding for two, and then exhaling over a count of five.

Stiles’ heart rate slowed down, his breathing evened out, and he no longer felt like he might vomit or pass out any moment. Still Derek didn’t release him. It took Stiles a few minutes more to realize that might be because he’d put his own arms around Derek and was holding on for dear life.

Stiles’ initial reaction was to pull back in embarrassment, but he decided that no, he wasn’t going to let go. And he wasn’t going to be embarrassed for panicking because Derek had nearly died. And/or he’d almost been forced to cut off Derek’s arm to save his stupid life. He thought that after the night he’d just had, he deserved to cling a little bit, and to have Derek hold him and tell him he’d done a good job. And also to smell so good.

Derek chuckled. (Stiles wasn’t sure what it was at first, but that’s what he finally settled on.) “I take it you’re going to be alright now?”

Shit. “How much of that did I say out loud?”

“Enough,” Derek said, sounding amused.

“Well,” Stiles said with false bravado. “I meant every word I didn’t mean to say out loud.” And just to prove his point, Stiles tightened his hold on Derek.

Derek let him. And he actually rubbed his hand up and down Stiles’ back. Too hard to be soothing, and yet comforting all the same because Derek cared enough to try.

“You’re going to have to get going soon,” Derek finally said. “Your dad’s going to worry.”

“He knows I’m with you,” Stiles said.

“Which is exactly why he’s going to worry,” Derek said dryly.

Stiles pulled back so he could see Derek’s face, but didn’t release him completely. “Oh my god, did he _say_ something to you?”

“You mean like, keep your hands off my underage son?” Derek said.

Stiles blushed with mortification at the mere thought of _that_ conversation.

“No. But a guy knows when he’s being sized up as potential boyfriend material.”

“Oh my gosh,” Stiles groaned, hiding his face against Derek’s chest. “Why does everybody _think_ that?”

“Geeze,” Derek said. “I don’t know.”

“Alright, fine,” Stiles said. “Point. We’re closer than two people who’ve just met each other, and who aren’t sleeping together, normally are. But they should believe us when we tell them it’s not like that.”

“Fathers are naturally suspicious,” Derek said. “On top of that, yours is a sheriff. And Scott’s a sixteen year old boy.” He shrugged as if that said it all. Stiles guessed that maybe it did.

“Now,” Derek continued gently. “Get out of here before your father comes out and shoots me again.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said. “Are you joking about this? Because it’s totally not funny.”

“Gallows humor,” Derek said. “Because I can’t afford a panic attack of my own right now.”

Stiles knew that Derek was kidding, mostly, but he still didn’t like the idea of leaving him out here. “Are you sure you’re going to be alright out here? You’ll be all alone, and what if you have a relapse, or something?”

“I won’t,” Derek assured him. “I feel fine.”

“What if the hunters come looking for you?”

“They won’t,” Derek said, then added for Stiles’ benefit, “They were hunting the alpha last night, I just got in the way.”

Stiles wasn’t completely mollified, but he knew there was nothing he could say to change Derek’s mind. “Well, don’t do that again.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “I’ll try not to.”

“There is no try,” Stiles reminded Derek. “Promise you’ll call me if you need anything,” he said. “Promise.”

Derek rolled his eyes, but he promised, so Stiles called it a win.

“Good.” Stiles pulled out his cell phone. No missed messages from his dad or Scott. He handed the cell to Derek. “Give me your number.”

Derek took the phone and programmed in his number, then sent himself a text message before handing the phone back.

Stiles slid the phone back into his pocket, stalling. “We have to talk,” he said. “About the alpha, and you hunting him alone.”

Derek’s lips twisted up, but he nodded his head in agreement.

“But first we have to finish telling Scott everything.”

Derek’s lips twisted even more, but Stiles didn’t give him a chance to back out or say no.

“Meet us at my house after lacrosse practice. Unless you’re coming to practice, in which case we can drive over together.”

Derek didn’t say anything, but Stiles knew he’d be there.

~*~

Stiles’ dad was still up when he got home. “Sports Center” was on the television when Stiles poked his head into the living room, but Stiles had heard Alex Trebek’s distinctive voice from the driveway.

“Hey,” Stiles said.

“Hey,” his dad answered, as if he hadn’t been waiting up for him. “Everyone get home alright?”

“Very subtle,” Stiles said as he dropped down onto the couch and let his head flop back. “But to answer your question, yes, everyone got home alright.” Stiles sighed. “I hated leaving him out there, though,” he admitted to his dad. “He’s all alone.”

“And you worry,” Stiles’ dad said.

“And I worry,” Stiles agreed. It was his thing.

“He’s a grown man,” his dad said.

Stiles gave him a look. “That doesn’t equate with making good decisions, as we all know from a study of your lunch habits.”

“Somehow I feel that this conversation has gotten off track.”

Stiles snorted.

“Do you have homework?”

“Yeah.” But he couldn’t work up even a modicum of enthusiasm for it. With everything that had happened that evening, homework seemed so . . . trivial and unimportant.

“Thank you,” Stiles told his dad, who raised his eyebrows in query. “For inviting Derek to stay. You didn’t have to do that, and I appreciate it.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” Stiles’ dad said. “I like Derek. But your appreciation is duly noted.”

“Do you think he’s too old for me?”

Stiles’ dad choked on the sip of whiskey he’d just taken. “What?” he said as he wiped the back of his hand across his chin.

Stiles bit back a laugh. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Derek says you’ve been sizing him up. For, you know. Boyfriend material. Mine, not yours.”

“I know the two of you are close,” Stiles’ dad said carefully. “I wanted to make sure he’s going to treat you right, that he’s not taking advantage of you.”

Stiles stared at his dad, his chest filling up with unexpected emotion. “That’s . . . really nice,” he said. “I almost feel bad having to disabuse you of the notion that Derek and I are dating.”

“I know you’re not dating,” Stiles’ dad said.

“You do? Then why the . . . ?”

“I’m preparing myself for the day you realize that you _do_ want to date him.”

“What? No. We’re just friends.”

“You don’t know how happy I am to hear that. Because the thought of you having sex with anyone, much less a man several years older than you, breaks my brain.” He paused. “Do we need to have that talk again?”

Stiles’ response was an emphatic, “No! It was horrifying enough the first time.”

“Something we can both agree on,” his dad said, and toasted the sentiment with a raised glass before finishing the whiskey. “Well, I’m going to bed. Get your homework done.” He squeezed Stiles’ shoulder. “I’m glad we had this talk.”

How on Earth, Stiles wondered, do I get myself into these situations? “Yeah,” he said out loud. “Me, too.”

The End of Episode Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a longer than usual wait for Episode Six because I have two other challenge fic (one for shelter_diner and the other for twreversebang) that I need to at least get a start on before I turn around and it’s suddenly November. My apologies for the extra wait, but I promise that I will get back to this story as quickly as possible. Thank you!


	6. Episode Six: i’ve been standing here my whole life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles tells Scott more about werewolves, werewolf hunters, and the Alpha behind the animal attacks. He also somehow manages to antagonize Kate. Go figure. And then he enlists Danny’s help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I honestly had no idea it would take me 5 months to be able to return to this fic! I'm so sorry for the long wait, though I do thank you for your patience. If you remember this story at all, and have any interest in continuing to read it, I hope you enjoy this episode. I'm sort of on a roll now, so I hope to be able to continue writing on this story and get the concluding chapters posted right along. I'm expecting there to be two more, maybe three. And then we'll take a break before contemplating continuing with season two. *g*
> 
> Written: March 4, 2013

Derek showed up at practice. Stiles was not surprised to see him there. But he was relieved, because no matter what Derek had said last night, Stiles had worried about him. Worried that the wolfsbane hadn’t been fully neutralized, or that the hunters might find him when he was alone and unable to defend himself. Stiles had texted Derek for updates every fifteen minutes until Derek finally replied, _if you text me 1 more time I’m gonna break your fingers_

Stiles very nearly sent a reply, but thought better of it. That morning, though, he’d texted, _Morning sourwolf!_ Derek, unsurprisingly, hadn’t replied.

“I liked it better when I thought he was your secret, leather-wearing, hot rod-driving, bad boy boyfriend,” Scott said when he saw Derek lurking on the sidelines.

“Do I even want to know why?” Stiles said.

“I had nightmares about yesterday.”

“You and me both, brother, you and me both,” Stiles said, remembering how he’d very nearly had to cut off Derek’s arm with a saw in order to save his life.

“Something like that could happen to you,” Scott said.

“Not if we’re very, very careful,” Stiles said, trying not to let Scott’s concern affect him. Stiles had been too worried about Derek last night to think along those lines, and letting himself go down that path now would only lead to insanity.

When practice was over, Stiles and Scott met Derek in the parking lot. His Camaro was parked next to Betty, and he leaned against it, arms crossed over his chest. He watched Stiles and Scott’s approach over the top of his sunglasses.

“I used to think that look was because he wanted to eat you up, you know, in a good way,” Scott said. “And now I find out it’s because he could _literally_ eat you.”

“You do realize he can hear you, right?”

Stiles heard Scott’s heartbeat trip over itself.

“No,” Scott said. “You didn’t mention that. Is he gonna hurt me?”

“You saved his life last night, so no. I can’t vouch for later, though. He likes to put a hurting on people in the name of training.”

Derek’s smile at that was all teeth. Stiles could understand why Scott stayed behind him while they made they’re final approach. Derek’s smile was almost scarier than his growl.

“Hey there, sourwolf.”

“Don’t call me that,” Derek snarled.

“Don’t try and scare my friend. He doesn’t know that you’re hiding a puppy underneath this hard exterior.” Stiles poked his finger into Derek’s stomach to emphasize his point. “Really hard,” he added when his finger encountered Derek’s abs. “Feel this!” Stiles said to Scott.

“Yeah, no, I’m good,” Scott said, taking a step back to stress just how good he was.

“Smart move,” Stiles told Scott when Derek grabbed his finger and bent it back just enough to make _his_ point. “Okay, got it, no more poking the wolf.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Derek said.

Stiles felt Scott start to vibrate with excitement. He’d been dying to ask Stiles questions all day, but he’d somehow managed to contain himself. Stiles would have to find a way to reward him for that. The only snag had been when Allison showed up, and that was mainly due to Scott’s fear that his theft of the bullet had been discovered, rather than because she might somehow divine that his best friend was now a werewolf.

That would change, though, when he found out that the Argents were hunters. Stiles hated to be the one to have to break that news to him.

Derek didn’t wait for them. He got in the Camaro and expected them to follow him. Which they did, of course. This meeting was Stiles’ idea, after all, and Scott had used up all his patience.

~*~

“So, werewolves are real,” Scott said, the words exploding out of his mouth as if he’d been holding them in all day. Actually, he probably had been.

“Yes,” Stiles said.

“And you and Derek are both werewolves,” Scott ventured more cautiously.

Stiles glanced over at Derek, who sat stiff and uncomfortable in a chair that Stiles knew for a fact was very comfortable, as the number of times either he or his dad had fallen asleep in it could attest. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his eyes glared a hole into Stiles as if to say, you wanted to tell him, don’t look to me for help explaining any of it.

Stiles turned back to Scott. “Yes.”

“Holy crap,” Scott breathed. “So, do you have superpowers now? I mean, you said about Derek’s hearing . . . .”

“Yeah, sort of. I mean, speed, strength, hearing, yeah, like that.”

“That is so awesome,” Scott said.

“I know, right? I wanted to tell you before, but Laura said I couldn’t. I knew you’d think it was totally cool and . . . .”

“Stiles,” Derek ground out.

“Right. Back on track. We’ll talk about that later,” Stiles stage whispered to Scott.

“Okay,” Scott agreed. A look of confusion crossed his face. “But wait. If you’ve got, you know, enhanced speed and whatever, they why do you still suck at lacrosse?”

Derek snorted. Stiles ignored him.

“Because I have to. It would look suspicious if one day I can’t walk down the hall without tripping, and the next I have mad lacrosse skills.”

“That sucks,” Scott said. “Man, you could be first line! Wouldn’t that burn Jackson’s ass?”

“Tell me about it,” Stiles sighed.

“Okay, so, why can’t people know?” Scott, his brow crinkling up cutely in confusion.

“Because it would be too dangerous,” Stiles said. “If people knew that werewolves existed, there’d be fear, and witch hunts. Only, you know, with werewolves instead of witches.”

“Okay, well, just for sake of argument, shouldn’t people be afraid? I mean, _werewolves_.”

“Are you afraid of me, right now?”

“Well, no, but you’re Stiles.”

“I’m still me. Becoming a werewolf didn’t turn me into slavering monster. Well, except on the full moon, maybe . . . .”

Derek cleared his throat.

“Right, tangent. Once again, long story for another time.”

“Basically, werewolves are like people. There are good ones, like Laura, broody ones, like Broody McBrooderson over here, and smart ones, like me! That said,” Stiles went on, “even good werewolves can be dangerous given the right circumstances. I mean, with the speed and strength, we are finely honed fighting machines, after all.”

Stiles heard Derek’s eyebrows go up.

“Okay, fine,” Stiles said. “Derek is finely honed. I’m still in the process of being honed. And that’s not as dirty, or fun, as it sounds. But check it out.” Stiles pulled up his t-shirt. “Derek makes me do sit-ups.”

Scott blinked. “Yeah, I don’t really . . . huh, you do look pretty good, actually.”

“Thanks, man.” Stiles held out his fist. Scott bumped it.

“But,” Stiles went on at the increase in the intensity of Derek’s glare. “Just like there are good witches and bad witches, there are not so nice werewolves, as well.”

“That do more than attempt to eviscerate you with a finely honed look?” Scott asked, pointedly not looking in Derek’s direction.

“Good one,” Stiles said, ignoring the low growl coming from the chair. “And I wish I could tell you that attempted evisceration by glare was the worst you could expect, but yes, much worse than that. You know the recent animal attacks?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard . . . . What, werewolf?”

“Werewolf,” Stiles confirmed.

“But, Laura . . . .”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “A werewolf that was able to take out another werewolf. And Laura should’ve been strong enough to take it, so I just don’t understand . . . .”

“Stiles,” Derek said, the warning coming out much softer than the others preceding it.

“I’m fine,” Stiles said, blinking fast.

“So why don’t you stop him?” Scott said.

“We’re trying,” Derek growled.

“It’s not that simple,” Stiles said. “Laura and I were, and now Derek and I are, trying to figure out who it is. We even snuck into the . . . ,” Stiles began excitedly.

Derek sighed. “Stiles, stay on track.”

“Right! Again, story for another time. Because there’s something important that we really have to tell you.”

“Okay,” Scott prompted when Stiles was quiet for a moment.

It was just that Stiles didn’t know how to tell Scott this bit. Telling him that werewolves were real had been a cakewalk to telling him that his girlfriend came from a family of werewolf hunters. Stiles grabbed a corner of the metaphorical band aid and yanked.

“In addition to werewolves, there are also hunters. Werewolf hunters.”

“There are actually people out there who want to kill you?”

“Whose main purpose is to kill us, yes,” Stiles said. “They’re supposed to follow a code, only go after werewolves that have hurt humans, but not all of them do. Follow the code, I mean.”

“Is that who shot Derek, hunters?”

“Yes. Derek thinks they were hunting the other werewolf, and he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He could’ve healed from a regular bullet wound. Or so I’ve been assured,” Stiles said. “So far I haven’t had to find that out for myself. But this bullet was loaded with wolfsbane, which is poison to werewolves.”

“He’s gonna be okay now, though, right?”

“Yes,” Stiles said, then looked at Derek. “You are, right?”

“Yes,” Derek said angrily. “I’m fine.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. It was such a chore to have people care about you. “But if we hadn’t been able to counteract the wolfsbane, or keep it from reaching his heart, Derek would’ve died, so, in case we didn’t say it last night, thank you.”

After a moment of silence, Stiles said, “Derek.”

“Yes, thank you,” Derek growled.

“Um. You’re welcome? Okay,” Scott said thoughtfully. “I get all that. I mean, I don’t understand half of it, but I get it. What I don’t get is why Allison’s aunt had the bullet you needed.”

Stiles waited a couple seconds for Scott’s brain to make the leap, until it was clear he wasn’t going to.

“Because Allison’s Aunt Kate is the one who shot Derek,” Stiles said as gently as he could.

“Kate’s a hunter?”

Derek finally spoke up. “The Argents are all hunters.”

~*~*~*~

“I can’t believe it,” Scott said for the three millionth time.

Stiles patted Scott’s shoulder with more force than was strictly necessary. “I know, buddy. Join the club.”

Derek had left after the revelation about the Argents. Probably to go out to the Hale house and self-flagellate himself. Stiles’, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that other thing we need to talk about!” rang in the air for several moments after Derek had cleared the door.

“That’s why it’s really important that you don’t tell anyone about me, especially Allison. I mean, I know you like her, but we don’t really know anything about her.”

“Is Allison a hunter?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles admitted. “But I can’t take the risk that she’ll let something slip to her dad.”

“Okay, but you said they follow a code.”

“Most of them do, Laura told me. But I’m safest if no one knows about me. I did want to tell you, though,” Stiles repeated. “I knew I could trust you, and I really needed someone to talk to about everything.”

For the moment, Scott was distracted from his concern over Allison. “What all can you do?”

Stiles spent the next half hour telling Scott all about the cool things he could now do as a werewolf. And about some of the not-so-cool things, such as hearing the couple down the street work on making baby number three.

“Euww,” Scott said.

Stiles nodded his head in emphatic agreement.

“So, all that time you spent with Derek, he wasn’t really helping you train for lacrosse. Or taking your virginity in the back of the Camaro.”

“No,” Stiles said. “And, oh my god, no!”

Scott laughed at Stiles’ reaction, and Stiles figured the image he now had in his brain of him and Derek trying to both fit in the backseat of the Camaro was worth Scott not being so morose.

“Derek’s been training me on how to use my new abilities. I mean, you know me, being able to run fast doesn’t keep me from tripping over my own two feet,” Stiles simplified. “Also, he’s been teaching me how to hold back when it comes to lacrosse, so I don’t give myself away.”

“That must really suck, that you can’t, you know . . . .”

“It really does,” Stiles said. Still, seeing Derek almost die from a wolfsbane bullet put things in perspective. Having to cut off Derek’s arm would’ve sucked way worse.

~*~

Stiles figured, now that he’d filled Scott’s brain with a lot of information, it was time to do something mindless for a while to let it all simmer. Besides, it was time to throw the potatoes in the oven to bake for supper. After that, they played a video game, and Stiles let Scott win.

Stiles invited Scott to stay for supper, since his mom was working, but when he found out that fish was on the menu, he passed. Stiles was alone in the kitchen when his dad came home.

“You look tired,” Stiles commented.

“Just . . . frustrated, mostly,” Stiles’ dad admitted. “I had a meeting with the mayor and town supervisor about how close we aren’t to solving those animal attacks.”

“Oh,” Stiles said. “That must’ve sucked.”

Stiles’ dad barked out a laugh. “Yeah, you can say that again.”

“That must’ve sucked,” Stiles said.

Stiles’ dad agave him a look. “Okay, wise ass. What’s for dinner?” He sniffed. “Smells good.”

“The last of the fish,” Stiles said.

That Samuels brought back?”

“That’s the one,” Stiles said.

“Damn,” Stiles’ dad said. “I’m going to have to send her back out for more.”

Becky Samuels, one of his dad’s deputies, had gone deep sea fishing with her own dad a few months back. She’d shared some of her bounty with the Stilinski men because Stiles’ dad had offered to cover her shifts so she could go when the opportunity came up last minute.

“Official department business?” Stiles teased.

“Yes,” his dad agreed. “But does that mean we’re having spinach?”

“Go take your shower before the fish gets done.”

Stiles’ dad sighed. “That means yes.”

“Spinach is good for you!” Stiles called after him.

“That’s just code for ‘tastes like cardboard’,” his dad muttered to himself.

Stiles bit his tongue on a retort because he shouldn’t have been able to hear that.

~*~

Stiles got home late on Wednesday because they had an away game. It was frustrating because he wanted to speak with Derek about his nocturnal habits, which, unlike Stiles’ nocturnal habits that kept him safely in bed, included hunting an Alpha werewolf on his own. Thursday after practice was the first chance he got.

“Can I come with you?” Scott asked when they were in the locker room changing out of their practice clothes.

“Aren’t you supposed to ‘study’ with Allison?” Stiles said, complete with finger quotes.

“Yes,” Scott said, not sounding as excited as usual. “But I could tell her something else came up,” he suggested hopefully.

Stiles frowned. “I thought you liked Allison.”

“I do!”

“Then what’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Scott hissed. “You told me that her dad is a _hunter_!”

“Of werewolves,” Stiles said, lowering his voice. “One of which you are not.”

“He already makes me nervous. He’s going to know something’s up!”

“Sure he will,” Stiles said, and watched Scott’s face drain of color. He knew what happened next. “Whoa, hey, you got your inhaler?”

Scott scrabbled into the side pocket of his duffel bag for the inhaler. Stiles rubbed Scott’s back as his breathing eased and the color returned to his cheeks.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Stiles said. “He’s not going to jump to the conclusion that you know about werewolves, much less that your best friend is one. He’s going to think you’re nervous around him because you want to do his daughter.”

Scott’s eyes went wide above the inhaler. He took it out long enough to ask, “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Uh, yeah?”

~*~

“Miss me?” Stiles asked when he showed up at the Hale house. “I hope Derek’s been feeding you guys.”

Stiles stuck his fingers through the wire mesh and petted the bunnies when they hopped close to explore the strange phenomenon of Stiles’ fingers. He poked a stalk of celery through one of the holes and held it while they nibbled on it.

“I brought you celery today because I thought you might be getting sick of carrots. Also, it’s good for you, and we want to keep you lean. You guys start putting on weight and Derek might get ideas about rabbit stew.”

“Funny,” Derek said dryly from behind Stiles.

Stiles just tipped his head back and grinned. “I heard you coming.”

Derek’s eyebrows went up.

“Okay, heard might not be the right way to describe it because you don’t make any sound when you move, but the other animals go completely silent, and I think I recognize your heartbeat, or something. Is that weird? That’s weird, isn’t it? Bunny and Rabbit need more water,” Stiles said, changing the subject.

Derek held up the bucket of water he’d brought back from the creek.

“Oh, hey, you brought them water!”

“I’m not going to let them starve,” Derek said.

“I didn’t think you would,” Stiles said as he raised the wire mesh trapdoor on top of the hutch and reached in for the water dish. He dumped out the old water and filled it with fresh.

Rabbit nosed at Stiles’ hand as if he expected another treat while he was exploring the water dish. Stiles scooped up Bunny and cradled him to his chest.

“Hey there, little guy,” Stiles said, burying his face in the soft fur. He murmured nonsensical words into Bunny’s fur and petted him, then put him back in the hutch and picked up Rabbit for his cuddle.

“We need to train,” Derek said as he watched Stiles carefully place Rabbit back into the hutch and lock it. “You haven’t done any training since Sunday.”

“Been a little busy,” Stiles said.

“It’s important . . . ,” Derek began.

“I’m not arguing with you about that. I agree that it’s important. I’m just saying, there were extenuating circumstances. So we will train. Right after we talk.”

Derek grimaced.

“That’s what my dad’s face looked like the other night when he found out we were having spinach for supper,” Stiles remarked. “So, tell me what you’ve found out about the other werewolf, the . . . Alpha.”

“Nothing,” Derek said, sounding more frustrated than Stiles had seen him. “The other night was the closest I’d gotten to him. I think I might’ve caught him, too, if those hunters hadn’t interfered.”

“And then what?” Stiles said.

“And then what, what?”

“What would you have done when you caught him? Had a nice little chat? You told me he was stronger than the both of us. Is that true?”

Derek looked like he didn’t want to answer, but he finally ground out, “Yes. But we, _I_ have to do something.”

“That something can’t be confronting him alone,” Stiles said. “I know I’m not going to be much help other than as a distraction, but we need a better plan than you going off and getting killed and leaving me to face psycho Alpha all alone.”

Stiles took a deep breath to continue.

“You’re right,” Derek said, which took some of the wind out of Stiles’ sails.

“Are you saying that because I’m freaking out, or because I’m actually right?”

“We need a different plan,” Derek said, not actually answering the question.

“That’s _all_ I’m saying,” Stiles said. “So what’s the plan?”

“Why don’t you think about it while you’re doing push ups,” Derek suggested.

“I hate you,” Stiles said as he dropped to the ground.

~*~

Friday Scott rode out to the Hale house with Stiles.

“I thought you had plans with Allison tonight,” Stiles said.

“Movies later,” Scott said. “I practically begged her to do something out of the house.”

Stiles didn’t laugh. Chris Argent was one scary dude – Stiles wouldn’t want to hang out at his house, either.

“What’s he doing here?” Derek said when he saw Scott in the Jeep.

“He wants to watch training,” Stiles said. He couldn’t lie, he was looking forward to showing off some of his new abilities to his best friend.

“Oh, bunnies,” Scott said when he caught sight of the hutch.

“After bunny cuddling,” Stiles amended.

Derek turned back to the stairs he was rebuilding. Stiles didn’t know what different new back steps was going to make when half the house was missing and the rest falling down. He wasn’t stupid enough to say any of that out loud, though. He joined Scott at the hutch and they fed and snuggled the bunnies until Derek put away his tools.

“Let’s go,” Derek said.

“Okay, just a . . . .”

“Now,” Derek said, punctuating it with a tennis ball off Stiles’ hip.

“Ow, fuck!” Stiles said. “Look what you made me do . . . .” Stiles ducked another ball. “You made me swear . . . .” He reached out and caught the next one. “In front of the bunnies!”

Stiles had to leave the bunnies to Scott’s attention and focus all of his own on the tennis balls with which Derek was pelting him. He avoided a few, caught a couple, but most of them found their target.

“That looks like fun,” Scott said. “Not from your end, of course,” he clarified at Stiles’ muttered, “Yeah, loads of fun.”

When the bag was empty, Derek said, “Crunches.”

Stiles followed the direction of Derek’s gaze to a tree in the backyard. “Really?”

Derek didn’t answer, but it had been a rhetorical question anyway. Stiles plodded over to the tree and leapt. His fingers curled around the lowest branch and he attempted to bring his feet up and hook his legs over. He lost his grip and fell, twisting in the air to land on his hands and feet.

“Oh my god! Did you see that! I thought you were going to land on your head and break your neck!”

“Of course I saw it,” Stiles muttered as he glared up at the tree branch. “I did it.”

Stiles got his knees hooked over the branch on the second try and then let himself hang down.

“Twenty each,” Derek said.

“Sadist,” Stiles said with a glare, and then began.

“You, too.”

“What?” Scott said.

“Crunches.”

“Me? But . . . I can’t get up there.”

“On the ground is fine.”

“I just . . . thought I was going to be watching.”

“Nobody just watches. Besides, you’re the one with a girlfriend to impress.”

“Wait, I don’t look bad, do I? Stiles?”

Stiles was laughing too hard to answer. And also occupied with catching himself when his legs began to slip so he didn’t fall off the branch.

~*~*~*~

They had a game Saturday morning. Stiles thought it was probably mean of him to laugh when Scott groaned each time he moved just right.

“Derek’s a drill sergeant,” Scott complained.

Derek _was_ a drill sergeant, but he was Stiles’ drill sergeant.

“How was your date last night?” Stiles asked.

As he’d hoped, Scott was easily distracted by mention of Allison. His expression went all dreamy, and he said, “It was great. Especially since her parents weren’t there.”

Both Derek and Stiles’ dad showed up to the game, even though it was unlikely that Stiles would see any playing time. It gave Stiles the warm fuzzies to see them standing together on the sidelines, talking. He thought they both could use the other’s company. What didn’t give him the warm fuzzies was to see Chris Argent, and a woman Stiles guessed was Kate, accompanying Allison to the game, or the looks they both gave Derek. Derek ignored them, though he had to know they were there.

“I don’t like the way she looks at me,” Scott said, drawing Stiles’ attention away from the sidelines.

“Who, Allison?”

“No, her aunt,” Scott said, his own gaze focused on the opposite sideline, confirming Stiles’ suspicion.

“How does she look at you?” Stiles asked.

“Like I’m a tasty hunk of fresh meat,” Scott said. “The gazelle to her lion. The dolphin to her shark.”

“The baby seal to her polar bear,” Stiles added.

Scott, looking a little nauseous, held up his fist. Stiles bumped it in bro solidarity.

After that, Stiles found it difficult to concentrate on the game. Especially once he noticed how much attention Kate was paying to Derek while pretending to watch the field. She didn’t say anything that she wouldn’t want Derek to overhear (and unbeknownst to her, for Stiles to overhear), but even from across the field Stiles could see the avarice in her eyes as her gaze raked Derek’s body, and the hatred that glittered right alongside it. She was one mixed-up bag of crazy, Stiles thought.

Stiles was glad when the game ended. He’d been itching to go over there and stand beside Derek, as if he had any chance in hell of protecting Derek from the hurt Kate could inflict on him. Unfortunately, the hurt she’d already inflicted went bone deep, and Kate would only have to look at Derek to twist that knife.

By the time they got through the coach trying to tell the team in his incomprehensible way that they’d done a good job out there, and the line-up to slap hands with the other team, Chris Argent and Kate were moving towards where Stiles’ dad and Derek were standing. Stiles had seen Derek stiffen at Kate’s seemingly innocent, “Why don’t you introduce me to the Sheriff,” to her brother.

Stiles forced himself to jog over instead of the sprint he wanted to break out into. “Hi!” Stiles said when he reached the small group, not caring that he interrupted Chris Argent introducing his sister to Stiles’ dad. He bumped his shoulder into Derek, hoping that the nearness of his only remaining pack (except for his Uncle Peter, who still lay in a coma), would be enough to allow Derek to keep a firm rein on his emotions.

Derek didn’t mention Stiles’ rudeness, and surprisingly, neither did his dad. Stiles was pretty sure that his dad remembered very well the conversation they’d had about Derek and Chris Argent’s sister, and he knew that Derek, though he said nothing and tried very hard to not give anything away, was uncomfortable in their presence. Stiles also recognized the suspicious expression his dad wore, because it was directed at Stiles more often than not. He couldn’t take time to bask in the fact that it was directed at Chris Argent and Kate, unfortunately, because the last thing Stiles wanted was his dad looking into the Argents.

“I’m glad you guys came,” Stiles told Derek and his dad. “Even though I didn’t get in the game. Still, best bench warming I’ve done to date, don’t you think?”

Before his dad, who was now gifting him with a quizzical expression, could formulate a reply, Stiles turned to the others. “Mr. Argent,” he said. “Nice to see you again. And you must be Allison’s Aunt Kate,” he directed to Kate.

Kate raised her eyebrows at Stiles. He couldn’t tell if she was amused by him, or irritated. He didn’t care, either way. “Scott mentioned you were visiting,” Stiles explained.

“Speaking of Scott,” Chris Argent said, just now noticing that Scott and Allison had taken advantage of his preoccupation with Derek to meet in the middle of the field.

“They make a cute couple,” Stiles’ dad commented before Stiles could make the wise ass retort that was on the tip of his tongue. Chris Argent’s unfounded dislike of Scott, who was like the cute stray puppy you found and took home, was really starting to rub Stiles the wrong way. Still, Stiles’ dad’s more neutral tack was probably the better path to take.

“Yes, well,” Chris Argent said, clearly not agreeing. “We have plans with the family this afternoon, so we need to be going.”

“Speaking of family,” Kate said, eyes glittering with malice. “How’s yours, Derek?”

Derek went tense beside Stiles, and even Stiles’ dad reacted to that statement. Stiles himself had the nearly irrepressible desire to unsheathe his claws and scratch those eyes out of her head. Instead he struck back with the weapon he wielded best – words.

“Wow, you must’ve been out of touch for a while. Most of Derek’s family died in a tragic accident. It’s kind of rude to mention it.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” Kate lied smoothly. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

She wasn’t a good enough liar to sound any sorrier than she looked. Even Stiles’ dad frowned at her comment. Stiles had the urge to claw that smug expression off her face. Derek must’ve known Stiles was going to move before he did, because his fingers formed a ring of steel around Stiles’ wrist, holding him in place and squeezing until the jolt of pain overrode the instinct to protect his pack, no matter who saw.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been out to the old Hale homestead,” Kate continued. “Maybe I’ll drop by for a visit while I’m in town.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Derek said.

“Why not?” Kate teased. “Just a friendly visit.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Stiles spoke up. He waited until Kate reluctantly dragged her gaze away from Derek and fixed Stiles with it.

“Since Derek’s not going to tell you,” Stiles went on. “I will. Derek and I are . . . seeing each other now.” It wasn’t a complete lie. They saw each other all the time, nearly every day, in fact.

“And I know, it showcases my own insecurities, I mean, a kid like me with someone as hot as Derek, but I’d rather his ex didn’t start paying him visits again. I’m sure you understand.”

The expressions that crossed Kate’s face just then were very interesting, and Stiles catalogued them for future examination. Stiles wondered if she knew that her poker face needed some work. Though he could see how she’d been able to fool a younger, more impressionable Derek. The thought made Stiles even more angry now that he had first hand experience of how cruel she could be.

Kate forced a tight smile. “You told him about us?”

“He mentioned you in passing,” Stiles said before Derek could answer, making it sound like it was no big deal. As if _she_ was no big deal. “Though I have to admit,” he couldn’t resist adding. “I thought you’d be younger. You know, more Derek’s age.”

Whatever pithy retort was on the tip of Kate’s tongue died there at the insult. Her face went red, and Stiles saw her react, though he didn’t move away from the anticipated slap. Her brother must’ve expected the same thing because he grabbed Kate’s arm. Through it all, Stiles hadn’t missed the surprise on Chris Argent’s face when he realized that, not only did Kate know Derek, they’d apparently dated at one time. Which meant he probably hadn’t known about what she’d done to Derek’s family. Probably. But he’d start thinking about it now.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure,” Chris Argent said dryly. “But we’ve got to get going. Kate,” he added when Kate didn’t appear to want to move.

With one last glare at Stiles, Kate allowed herself to be pulled away. Stiles didn’t take his eyes off her until he was sure she wasn’t going to whip out a gun and shoot him right there. Very slowly Stiles turned back to face the disapproving gazes of both his dad and Derek.

“What just happened here?” Stiles’ dad said, looking just as confused as he sounded. “Did you just insult Kate Argent?”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Derek growled at Stiles. “You not only drew her attention to yourself, you put yourself directly in the center of her crosshair.”

“I just wanted to protect you,” Stiles defended himself.

“Crosshair?” his dad said.

“I don’t need you to protect me.”

Stiles drew himself up tall. “What you think you need, and what you actually need, are two very different things, my friend.”

“Is my son in danger?”

“Yes,” Derek snarled. “Because I’m going to _kill_ him for what he just did. You do not just go waving a red cape in front of a bull,” Derek told Stiles.

“I feel like I’m missing so much of this conversation,” Stiles’ dad said.

“That happens to me all the time,” Scott, who’d just joined them, said.

“Like, there are whole layers here that I’m not getting.”

“I didn’t want her to hurt you again,” Stiles said. “That last bit just kind of slipped out.”

“Wait,” Stiles’ dad said. “I thought, from Chris Argent’s obvious dislike of you, that his sister had been the one to get hurt when you broke up, or whatever.”

“A lot of people got hurt back then,” Derek said softly.

~*~*~*~

“So, Derek and Kate?” Scott said.

They were lying on Stiles’ bed, staring at the ceiling. When Stiles didn’t answer, Scott went on.

“He thought it was a good idea to date a hunter?”

Stiles sighed. “He didn’t know at the time.”

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess that it didn’t end well.”

“Not well at all,” Stiles said. He sat up, signaling an end to their conversation. “So, video games, or animal attacks?”

“Animal attacks!”

So Stiles told Scott everything he and Laura, and now he and Derek, had discovered about the murders that the Sheriff’s Department had deemed animal attacks for lack of anything else that made sense. He even admitted to hacking into the Department’s system to read the police and coroner’s reports. Scott nearly peed his pants in excitement when Stiles told him they’d broken into the evidence room right under his dad’s nose. Stiles thought it was pretty cool himself, though he felt kind of bad about deceiving his dad.

When Stiles told Scott that he’d needed to sniff the evidence so he could maybe recognize the scent of the killer when he caught it, Scott was as grossed out as he’d previously been impressed. Stiles went so far as to tell Scott that they’d discovered a link between the two dead men and the Hale fire from six years ago. He’d read the fire department’s incident report as well as the coroner’s report, but he didn’t show them to Scott. It felt too personal to share those details of the fire with anyone, as if it was just something that had happened to someone they didn’t know.

The only thing Stiles left out was Kate Argent’s connection to the fire.

“This is the sign for a vendetta,” Stiles told Scott when he showed him the photo he’d clipped from the newspaper. “We think that whoever’s killing these people is doing so in a misguided attempt to avenge the Hale family.”

“But why kill the fire investigator?” Scott asked.

Stiles shrugged. “He declared it an accident. I’m guessing that he, the werewolf, disagrees.”

“I’ve seen that before,” Scott said, pointing to the photo of the dead deer with the spiral cut into its side.

“Everyone’s seen it,” Stiles said. “It was on the front page of the newspaper.”

“No, I mean at work. Your dad was asking Dr. Deaton about it.”

“Why would he think Dr. Deaton would recognize this?” Stiles asked, studying the spiral.

Scott shrugged. “I know he’s asked him about the bites before, trying to determine what kind of animal made them. Maybe he was just grasping at straws?” he suggested.

There had been no mention of his dad asking Dr. Deaton about the spiral in any of the police reports on the murders. Maybe because it had led nowhere.

Stiles closed up the folder and hid it in a box in his closet beneath a couple of Playboy magazines that were certain to keep his dad from digging any further if he did happen to stumble upon it. He took the few minutes afforded him by securing the folder to try and think of a way to say what was on his mind, but failed.

Stiles sat back down on the edge of his bed and said, “I think Laura figured it out.”

“You think that’s why he, it, killed her?” Scott asked.

“I don’t know,” Stiles said. “Maybe. But if he’s really avenging the Hale fire, why kill one of the few remaining Hales?”

“Maybe it’s just a coincidence that they have any connection to the fire. Or maybe he knew she was trying to stop him,” Scott said.

“Yeah, maybe. Derek’s been going out alone at night to try and track him,” Stiles said. Laura being a Hale hadn’t saved her, perhaps Derek was as much the prey on his nightly sojourns as he was the hunter.

“Is that bad? I mean, I know it killed Laura, but maybe Derek’s stronger . . . .”

Stiles shook his head. “Laura was an Alpha; she was more powerful than a normal werewolf. He shouldn’t have been able to kill her, but somehow he did. Derek told me that when the other werewolf killed her, he gained her power. He’s an Alpha now, and stronger than Derek, stronger than me, stronger even than both of us together.”

Scott was silent for a moment as he digested that. “That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“Derek’s promised not to go out on his own anymore, but we still need a plan.”

“Set a trap for him,” Scott said.

“How?”

“Well, for me all you’d need was a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. Or Allison. What does he want?”

“A pack?” Stiles guessed. From what Stiles knew about Alphas, he would need one, and from Derek’s warning when he thought he might die, Stiles also knew that if the Alpha knew about him, he’d want Stiles to join him. There was only one other thing Stiles could think of that the Alpha might want even more.

“*You* are a genius!” Stiles told Scott.

“I am?”

~*~

Stiles didn’t call Derek to tell him about his fabulous idea because he expected Derek to be dropping by any moment now that Scott had left to go to work at the Animal Clinic. Hopefully Derek had chopped wood or gone for a long run to work off his annoyance with Stiles antagonizing Kate, but with Stiles’ luck, probably had spent the time working up an even bigger head of steam.

Even though he’d been expecting it, Stiles jumped when he heard a noise outside his window. He was sitting calmly in his desk chair by the time Derek slipped though the open window, but Stiles didn’t even try to fool himself into thinking that Derek hadn’t heard the jump in his heartbeat just moments before.

“Before you yell at me,” Stiles said, hoping to head Derek off at the pass, “I’ve got an idea.”

“I like my idea better,” Derek said.

Derek’s idea probably consisted of pounding Stiles until he cried, so Stiles was not fully onboard with that one. “You haven’t even heard my idea. We both agreed that we needed a plan. Well, I think I’ve come up with one. With Scott’s help.”

“I can’t wait to hear it,” Derek said.

Derek’s eyebrows broadcast clearly just how much of a lie that was. Stiles ignored them.

“We set a trap for him,” Stiles said.

Derek waited a beat. “That’s your plan?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. What do you suggest we bait it with?”

“My first idea was me,” Stiles admitted, hurriedly adding, “But I’ve got a better idea,” at Derek’s unhappy growl. “What’s the werewolf been doing?”

“Killing people,” Derek said. Stiles waved his hand in a ‘go on’ gesture. “People connected to the fire.”

“Exactly. So who does he want more than anything?” Stiles rolled his eyes when Derek just stared at him. “Kate.”

“He doesn’t know about Kate,” Derek said tightly. “No one knows about Kate.”

“Laura knew. And I know. This guy, he’s been able to find out things, maybe he figured that out, too.” Derek shook his head, but Stiles went on. “And the night you got shot, you said the hunters were after the other werewolf that you were tracking. But what if they _weren’t_!” Stiles said excitedly. “Kate just arrived in Beacon Hills that night, so she wasn’t out hunting anything yet. Allison said her aunt had to call her dad to pick her up because she had car trouble. What if her car trouble was really werewolf trouble? What if she shot at the other werewolf because it attacked her?”

Stiles waited quietly to let Derek absorb all that information.

Finally Derek said, “It’s possible.”

Stiles leapt out of his chair. “It’s more than possible!”

Derek’s eyebrows went up. “Say it is, how exactly do you plan to set up this trap? We can’t exactly call him and tell him that we know where Kate will be at any given moment. Not that we actually do know.”

Stiles deflated. “I haven’t figured that out yet.” He recovered quickly. “But it’s a good idea, right? I mean, you said the Alpha was stronger than us, so not only do we get it where we’ll be waiting for it, we’ll have the hunters to help us. Though they won’t be aware they’re helping us, of course. That’s the delicious irony part.”

“What if he doesn’t fall for the trap? Or what if he kills someone else?”

“Wow,” Stiles said. “You really are a glass half empty kind of guy. Okay, to answer your questions. Even if he suspects a trap, he’ll go. I think he wants her badly enough to take the chance. And if by ‘someone’ you mean one or more of the hunters . . . .” Stiles shrugged. “I can’t really bring myself to care.” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and glared defiantly at Derek.

“Not all of them deserve to die,” Derek said, and Stiles could hear how much those words cost him. “They’re not all like Kate. What if Allison’s dad died? Don’t tell me you wouldn’t feel bad about that.”

“He’s scary. And mean,” Stiles said. “Why are you sticking up for him, anyway? For any of them?”

“I’m not,” Derek said. “I’m merely playing devil’s advocate. I don’t want you losing a part of yourself in this vendetta.”

Stiles sighed. “I don’t actually want anyone to get killed here, but the fact of the matter is, we need their help, and how likely are they to be willing to work together if we just ask them?”

Derek didn’t answer in words, but the tight line of his lips was all Stiles needed to see.

“Exactly. They wouldn’t. And if they did, I wouldn’t trust them to not double cross us. Besides, it’s not as if they’re going out there unprepared. They’ll be hunting the Alpha. We’re just going to make sure they find him.”

Derek just stared at him, and Stiles tried not to fidget.

“Fine,” Derek said finally. “You figure out how, and I’ll scout out a location, someplace deserted where there won’t be any witnesses.”

Stiles couldn’t restrain himself from a victory fist pump. “Yes! I am the king of good ideas.”

“You’re the king of something,” Derek agreed dryly.

“I’m the king of telling you that your sense of humor needs work.”

Derek raised his eyebrows. Frowning, Stiles ran those words back through his head.

“Yeah, I don’t even know what I meant with that.”

“Your mouth got ahead of your brain, I’m shocked.”

“Your sarcasm slays me,” Stiles said.

“Speaking of slaying you,” Derek said, crossing his arms over his chest and fixing Stiles with a glare.

“Is this the part of the program where you yell at me?” Stiles said.

“This is not a joke,” Derek said.

“I know it’s not . . . .”

“What you did . . . I shouldn’t have to tell you how dangerous she is,” Derek growled.

Stiles knew they were both thinking about the fact that Kate had murdered most of Derek’s family. That she’d been responsible for the deaths of werewolf and human alike. Of _children_. That she was one crazy ass bitch.

“You don’t have to tell me . . . ,” Stiles began.

“She believes that you’re human right now, but do you think that matters to her? Do you think she’ll hesitate to hurt you? Or to hurt your father or Scott because she knows the emotional pain will hurt more than any physical pain she could dish out?”

Stiles felt the blood rush from his head. Derek caught him and sat him back down in his chair. Jesus, what had he done?

“I only wanted to protect you,” Stiles said.

“I know,” Derek said. “But she’s way out of your league. And I’m not sixteen anymore,” he added. “I can take care of myself.”

Stiles didn’t call Derek on that bit of utter bullshit, merely said, “I don’t want her to hurt you anymore. Pack takes care of each other,” he added stubbornly.

Derek sighed. “Just stay away from her. Or you won’t have to worry about Kate, because I’ll kill you myself.”

“I knew you cared,” Stiles called to Derek’s back as he climbed out the window.

Leaving Stiles alone to contemplate the fact that he might’ve put both his dad and Scott in danger. Derek was right about one thing, Kate would need to strike back – her pride wouldn’t allow her to do anything less. And she wouldn’t hesitate to hit Stiles where it would hurt the most – his dad and Scott.

~*~*~*~

“I don’t want to scare you,” Stiles said when he picked up Scott the next afternoon to head out to Derek’s for some lacrosse practice.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Scott said. “What’s scarier than werewolves?”

“Allison’s aunt,” Stiles said.

“Kate?”

“Yeah. I may have, inadvertently, antagonized her yesterday.”

“I’m shocked,” Scott said. “But what does that have to do with me?”

“Derek thinks she may try to get back at me through the people I care about,” Stiles told him.

“Me?” Scott’s voice squeaked. “What is she, twelve?”

“She’s a psychotic bitch,” Stile said. At Scott’s look, he realized that he may have given more away with his response than he’d meant to. “I mean, she shot Derek with a wolfsbane bullet, so . . . .”

“O-kay.”

At the Hale house they played with the rabbits while waiting for Derek to return from wherever he gotten off to, probably brooding somewhere. A couple minutes later, while they were tearing up lettuce and dropping the pieces into the hutch, Derek showed up still damp from a wash in the creek.

“What’s up?” Stiles said. “Wanna hold Bunny?”

Derek didn’t even glare at Stiles in response. “What can you tell me about one of the teachers at your school, a Mr. Harris?”

“He doesn’t like me much,” Stiles said. “Of course, the feeling’s mutual. He’s always giving me detention for no reason.”

“No reason, right.”

“Why are you asking about him?”

Derek hesitated, then said, “He was attacked last night. By the Alpha.”

“What the heck does Mr. Harris have to do with the fire? And what were you doing tracking the Alpha after you just promised me . . . .”

Derek clapped his hand over Stiles’ mouth to shut him up.

“Huh,” Scott said. “That actually works.”

Stiles rolled a glare in Scott’s direction.

“I don’t know what he has to do with the fire, and I wasn’t out tracking the Alpha, I was out scouting, like we talked about.”

“And just happened to come across the Alpha?” Stiles said as soon as Derek released his mouth.

“Yes.”

Stiles waited, but there was nothing more forthcoming. “Yes. That’s it?”

Derek considered that. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you call in reinforcements, or stay away from him?”

“There wasn’t time, and did you really want me to just stand back and let him kill someone else?”

“Normally I’d say no,” Stiles said, “but it was Mr. Harris, so . . . okay, fine, no.” Stiles let his gaze move over Derek, examining him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Derek said, walking away from Stiles to carry the bucket of water into the house.

“No, seriously,” Stiles said, following him. “Did you get hurt?”

“I fought with the Alpha,” Derek said, exasperated.

“Okay, so you definitely got hurt. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Everything healed,” Derek said.

“Okay, but . . . .”

Derek tossed the bag of tennis balls to Stiles. “Carry this out.”

“I thought we were just going to practice lacrosse today.”

“Did you?” Derek’s smile was all teeth.

~*~

Stiles heard them only moments after Derek did. Stiles would love to thank his finely honed werewolf senses for that, but he only extended them past the backyard where they were practicing when he saw Derek go tense and start sniffing the air like a blood hound. Stiles immediately did the same.

Stiles smelt the gun oil first, then he heard the sound of a twig snapping, and then a voice. Kate’s voice.

“We don’t need to be quiet,” Kate said. “He already knows we’re coming. Don’t you, Derek? Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

Derek looked a little bit like a trapped animal at the sound of Kate’s voice. Stiles’ chest felt tight with fear.

“Stay back here,” Derek growled softly, and then he stalked around the side of the house.

“No, Derek!” Stiles hissed, making a grab for him and missing.

“What’s going on?” Scott said.

“Kate’s here,” Stiles told him. “With two other hunters.” If his senses were right. “And they’re armed.”

“What are we going to do?” Scott said.

Stiles didn’t have an answer for that. He clutched Scott’s arm and extended his hearing until he could hear the nervous slide of a sweat slicked palm on a rifle. Whispering, he told Scott what was being said on the other side of the house.

“What are you doing here?” Derek snarled.

“Relax,” Kate said. “We’re just here to talk.”

Stiles could hear the lie in her voice.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Kate said breezily. “It has a certain charm.”

Stiles didn’t realize he was snarling until Scott punched him in the arm to snap him out of it. “Stop that!” he hissed.

“Get off my property,” Derek growled.

“Not until you answer a question for me,” Kate said. “Who’s the other werewolf?”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

“By the time I’m done with you,” Kate said sweetly, “you’ll tell me anything I want to know.”

The sound of an electric buzz, like that made by a cattle prod (a bad porn experience that Stiles would really rather forget) or a taser (an equally bad ‘what does this do’ moment with his dad’s taser in which pissing himself was involved) sent a shiver down Stiles’ spine.

“Stay here,” Stiles told Scott, and then he followed Derek around the house, calling out his name. “Derek! Derek, man, what’s taking you so long?”

Stiles froze in place a couple steps behind Derek when he ‘noticed’ the others. “What are you doing here?” Stiles asked Kate, crossing his arms over his chest. “I thought I asked you to stay away from Derek.”

Derek didn’t take his eyes off Kate and her buddies to glare back at Stiles, though Stiles felt the glare in the stiffening of his shoulders, and he made sure that he remained between them and Stiles.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, sweetie, I’m just here to ask Derek a question. Though I do have to admit, he did grow up nicely,” Kate added, her gaze sliding over Derek in a manner that made Stiles feel as if _he_ had just been slimed by it and needed a shower.

“‘Grow up’ being the operative phrase here,” Stiles said just loud enough for Kate to hear if the glare she leveled on him was any indication.

“Hey guys, what’s . . . oh, hi,” Scott said, stumbling to a stop beside Stiles.

“I thought I told you to stay back there,” Stiles whispered to Scott.

“I couldn’t hear anything,” Scott whispered back. “You guys going hunting?” he asked the others.

Everyone glanced at the rifles they’d so assiduously been ignoring.

“Yes,” Kate said. “What are you two doing out here?”

“Lacrosse practice,” Scott said.

“Isn’t that sweet,” Kate said.

“What are you planning on hunting? It’s not wild turkey season yet. Jackrabbits? Derek,” Stiles said. “You’re not letting them hunt rabbits on your property, are you?”

“No.” Derek ground out the word.

“The game we like to hunt is a little bigger than a rabbit,” Kate said lightly, as if they weren’t standing on the spot where she’d killed eight members of the Hale family in cold blood.

“I haven’t heard any coyote around,” Stiles said. “Guess you’re out of luck.”

“For now,” Kate said, with a smile that told Stiles she wasn’t giving up.

They’d reached a standoff. Kate couldn’t ask Derek about the other werewolf again in front of Stiles and Scott, both of whom she thought were human, but she was loathe to just give up and walk away. Stiles could see the frustration on her face, though she was trying gamely to cover it with the smirk she wore.

He could see the wheels turning behind her eyes, though, wondering if she should push it, ask Derek again despite Stiles and Scott being there. She couldn’t be sure whether Stiles knew about Derek, though she’d probably be willing to bet on the side of yes, since Stiles had led her to believe that he and Derek were dating. But Scott was the variable. Finally, the need to retain secrecy about both werewolves and hunters won out and Kate let the tenseness bleed out of her stance.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t talk longer,” Kate told Derek, the comment loaded on several levels.

Stiles really wanted to punch her, and he must’ve made a move to do just that because Scott grabbed his arm and leaned in to whisper, “Put your claws away!”

It only took Stiles a moment to realize that Scott meant that literally. He sheathed his claws just before Kate looked over at them both.

“Problem, cutie?” she asked Scott.

Scott shifted uncomfortably beneath her regard. “No. I was just telling Stiles to please not ruin things for me and Allison.”

“Yes,” Kate said, drawing out the word. “He does tend to speak before he thinks, doesn’t he?”

“Uh . . . ,” Scott said.

Stiles heard the sound of an approaching engine then. He dearly hoped that his expression didn’t give away the fact that he’d heard anything, or that he feared it might be back up for Kate. As the vehicle drew closer, though, Stiles’ brain recognized the familiar skip in the engine that he kept meaning to tell his dad about, if only he could figure out how to explain how he’d heard it.

Stiles was simultaneously glad that their team was the one receiving back up, and worried that Kate might take Stiles’ dad’s sudden appearance as some kind of declaration of war, or something. Stiles forced himself to keep his attention focused on Kate rather than the sound of an approaching vehicle he shouldn’t be able to hear. It wasn’t difficult, because Stiles wanted to know what her reaction would be.

The moment she even made a move with the rifle she carried, Stiles was going to be on her like white on rice. He wouldn’t put it past her to decide that getting rid of them all, killing a couple of birds with whatever stones she had up her sleeves, would be the most expedient solution.

Finally one of the hunters with Kate spoke up. “Someone’s coming.”

Kate sneered. “Call in back up?”

“I don’t need back up to handle you,” Derek said.

“Oh, sweetie, I think we both know that’s not true. I’m way too . . . _hot_ for you to handle.”

Derek didn’t move, but Stiles could see the effort it took. The cruiser pulled to a stop and Stiles heard his dad get out of the car. Only then did Kate break her staring contest with Derek to turn her attention to Stiles’ dad.

“Sheriff Stilinski, what a pleasure to see you again,” Kate said.

And only then did Stiles allow himself to take his eyes off Kate to glance over at his dad.

“What’s going on here?” Stiles’ dad said.

Stiles noticed that he’d put on his hat after exiting the vehicle, which meant that, whatever reason had drawn him out there in the first place, he was making it official business now. A glance down to his holster showed the snap unclasped and his hand hovering over his weapon.

“Dad,” Stiles said, trying not to sound grateful (or scared). “What are you doing here?”

“I came out to tell you to be careful. Someone else was attacked last night,” Stiles’ dad answered the question without taking his eyes off Kate and her buddies.

“Oh my god!” Stiles said, doing his best to sound surprised.

“Was anyone killed?” Kate asked.

Stiles’ dad’s eyes narrowed. “No, no one was hurt. Now, someone want to tell me what’s going on here?”

“Just paying an old friend a visit,” Kate said, smiling sweetly at Stiles’ dad.

If Stiles didn’t already know what a cold-hearted, murderous bitch she was, he might’ve fallen for her pleasant facade. His dad, on the other hand, dealt with lying sociopaths on a semi-regular basis, and didn’t appear to be fooled at all.

“With guns?” Stiles’ dad asked.

“We were hoping to do some hunting,” Kate said, some of the pleasantness fading from her tone.

“Derek,” Stiles’ dad said, without taking his eyes off Kate and her hunting buddies.

“Sir.”

“Isn’t your land posted against hunting?”

“Yes, sir,” Derek said.

“Hasn’t it been that way since before you were born?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I would’ve thought you’d know that,” Stiles’ dad told Kate. “The Argents having lived in Beacon Hills for generations, and you and Derek being friends, and all.”

Kate was silent for a moment. Probably trying to decide whether she could afford to antagonize the Beacon Hills Sheriff. Just in case she was thinking in terms of a more physical response, rather than a verbal smack down, Stiles gauged the distance between them, estimating the time it would take him to reach her if she made any move with her rifle.

Finally Kate gave Stiles’ dad a tight smile and said, “I didn’t think it would hurt to ask.”

Stiles’ dad nodded, but Stiles recognized his expression as one that said ‘I hear what you’re saying, but I don’t believe a word of it.’ He’d received that look on several occasions in the past. Was pretty certain there were more of them in his future.

“Was there anything else?” Derek said.

Kate gave Derek a smile that made the hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck stand up. “Yes,” she said. “But they can wait for a more . . . opportune time.”

Kate glanced down at Derek’s clenched hands, and Stiles smelled the blood he’d drawn with his own claws.

“We’ll be leaving now. It’s been a real pleasure renewing our acquaintance. “I’ll be seeing you again real soon,” she promised before nodding to her cohorts and leading them back down the driveway.

“Trespassing is still a crime in Beacon Hills,” Stiles’ dad commented, as if he wasn’t fazed at all by three people wielding rifles.

Kate bared her teeth in what was supposed to be a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

~*~*~*~

They all waited in silence as they watched Kate and the others until they disappeared around a bend in the driveway.

“Are they going to come back?” Scott asked fearfully, breaking everyone out of the tension that held them in its grip.

“No,” Derek growled.

Stiles let out an explosive breath. Relief made him weak, and he bent over, hands on his knees. “Jesus! I thought she was actually going to shoot one of you.”

Derek glanced at Stiles, but it wasn’t a look of ‘you’re an idiot’, more like he was checking him over to make sure he was alright.

“How did you know anything was wrong?” Stiles asked his dad.

“They left their vehicle down by the road, which seemed suspicious, so I ran the plates,” Stiles’ dad said. He took off his hat and ran his hand over his head.

“Wow,” Stiles said. “You’re not bad at this investigative stuff.”

Stiles’ dad raised his eyebrows. “Thanks,” he said dryly. “What were they really here for?” he asked Derek suddenly.

Derek didn’t bat an eyelash. “Hunting,” he said.

Stiles’ dad was clearly not satisfied with that answer, but short of dragging Derek down to the station and interrogating him, it was the only answer he was going to get. “We’ll leave that for now.”

Stiles had never realized before where some of his stubbornness came from.

“What I came out here for . . . .”

“Yeah, what happened?” Stiles said.

Stiles’ dad gave him a look and Stiles mimed zipping his lips and locking them. His dad snorted.

“I’ll believe that when I see it. As I was saying, I came out here to warn you to be careful. There was another attack last night at the school.”

“At the school?” Stiles said.

“Who was attacked?” Scott said.

Stiles’ dad stared at them hard for a moment before answering, and Stiles was afraid they’d overplayed their hand. Finally he said, “One of the teachers, Mr. Harris.”

If Stiles didn’t know what was behind the attack, he’d wonder if one of the students hadn’t attacked Harris. It took a moment for Stiles to realize that everyone was staring at him. “What?”

“You said that out loud,” Scott said.

Stiles felt the blood drain from his face. “How much of it?”

“Any students in particular?” Stiles’ dad asked.

“No?”

“Maybe I should check into that,” his dad said. “He’s the teacher who likes to hand out detention slips like they’re candy, right?” He pinned Stiles with his gaze. “Maybe I should begin with his favorite target. Where were you last night?”

“Funny,” Stiles said. “What, really?” he said when his dad continued to stare at him. “I was home. With my dad. The wise, uh, acre.”

“Good. Stay out of trouble.”

“Yes, sir, Sheriff Stilinski,” Stiles said.

Stiles’ dad grabbed him in a one-armed hug and planted a kiss on the top of his head. “I’ll see you at home later.”

“Okay.”

Stiles’ dad nodded to Scott and Derek before turning on his heel to head back to the cruiser. He stopped before he’d taken a couple steps, turning back to look at Derek. “I know this is your home, and it’s got sentimental value for you, but it’s remote, and you’re alone out here. It’s not safe. The offer of the guest room still stands. I think we’d both feel better if you took us up on it.”

“Thank you,” Derek said. “I’ll think about it.”

Stiles’ dad snorted. “Sure you will. As long as you’re staying out here, I’m going to send a cruiser by to check on you.”

“That’s not necessary, sir.”

“Humor me.”

~*~

“Holy. Crap!” Scott said as soon as Stiles’ dad disappeared down the driveway. “That was scary! I think I may have peed myself.”

“You didn’t,” Stiles said. At Scott’s look, he added, “I’d smell it.”

“Please don’t tell me if you ever do,” Scott said, sounding pained.

“You guys should leave now,” Derek said.

“What? No way!” Stiles said. “I’m not leaving you out here alone to brood or get attacked!”

“Scott needs to get to work,” Derek said.

“Oh,” Stiles said, the wind taken out of his sails. “What time is it?”

“Time for you to leave,” Derek said before walking away from them.

“Derek,” Stiles called after him. “Derek!”

Derek shifted and ran. Stiles and Scott could only watch him go.

“Damn it,” Stiles muttered. “I hate when he does that. And I hate her. I hate what she does to him.”

“She’s scary,” Scott added. “Have you seen her eyes?”

“What about them?”

“They’re scary.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. Because there was nothing behind them except hate. “Come on, I’ll drop you off at work.”

Stiles stayed a little while to play with the dogs while Scott fed them and cleaned their cages. He tried to visit the cats, like he usually did when he stopped by, but this time they hissed at him, clearly wanting nothing to do with him. On his way out of the clinic, Stiles saw Dr. Deaton.

“Hello, Stiles.”

“Hey, Dr. Deaton, how’s it hanging?”

“I’m doing well, thank you,” Deaton said, ignoring Stiles’ irreverence. “How are you doing these days?”

“Good,” Stiles said.

“Are you?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad to hear that. And how is Derek doing?”

“Derek?”

“Derek Hale. The two of you are friends, aren’t you? Or do I have that wrong?”

“No. You’re not wrong. We’re . . . friends. I just didn’t know you knew that.”

“I know many things,” Deaton said cryptically.

“Oh!” Stiles said after a moment of silence during which Deaton continued to stare at him, waiting patiently, Stiles finally realized, for a response. “Derek. Derek is . . . fine.” It wasn’t exactly true, not for the normal definition of fine, but for Derek’s level of fine-ness.

Deaton nodded. “It’s good that he has a friend.”

“You know Derek?” Stiles asked.

“I’ve known the Hale family for many years,” Deaton said.

Before Stiles could question him about that, Deaton told Stiles he had to get back to work, and then he disappeared. “Almost as stealthy as Derek,” Stiles muttered to himself.

~*~

Stiles went straight home without stopping to check on Derek, even though he really wanted to. If Derek didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be. Besides, Stiles was a man on a mission.

As soon as Stiles got home he booted up his computer. He wanted to find out more about Mr. Harris, and he wanted to get a look at the footage from the traffic cameras in the area where Derek had been attacked. He was looking for proof that the Alpha had attacked Kate, rather than that she’d been hunting it, to bolster his plan to trap the Alpha using Kate as bait. And if he could track the Alpha back far enough, he might find him before the shift and be able to identify him.

Stiles had to close down his search on Mr. Harris to start supper and make it look like he’d spent at least part of the afternoon being a diligent student. So far he’d found nothing linking Harris to the fire, or to Kate. The only anomaly Stiles had found was a notation in his file at Beacon Hills High School that he’d agreed to seek counseling after an undocumented incident that took place several months after the fire. It was circumstantial at best, and could’ve been because of anything. It didn’t mean that he’d helped in some way to cause the horrible deaths of eight people.

Stiles was sitting at the kitchen table, chemistry book open, pot pie baking in the oven, when his dad got home. Stiles listened as he hung up his hat and coat, then locked up his service weapon. His footsteps were slow, heavy.

“I got time for a shower?” Stiles’ dad said when he poked his head into the kitchen.

“Yes,” Stiles said.

His dad sighed, as if he was too exhausted to drag himself up the stairs.

“You okay?” Stiles asked.

“Long day. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Take your time,” Stiles said, knowing his dad would enjoy the shower more if he didn’t have to rush through it, and be the better for it. “Unless you’re too tired. I can call someone in to give you a sponge bath. Scott’s mom, or maybe Carol Anne.”

“I think I can manage,” Stiles’ dad said dryly. But he sounded more alert now than he had when he came home. Probably because he wouldn’t put it past Stiles to do just that. Stiles smiled as he returned to the hated chemistry text.

Ten minutes later they were both sitting at the table, steaming plates of chicken pot pie and cold glasses of milk in front of them. Stiles’ dad had asked about Derek, but Stiles just shrugged. Derek hadn’t returned any of Stiles’ texts, and had clearly not shown up to partake of the delicious, if only reheated, repast.

“Wanna talk about it?” Stiles said now.

His dad gave him a look. “No.”

“Just to get it off your chest.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Well, complain about that, then. It’s not good to hold stuff inside,” Stiles said.

“You don’t need to worry about stuff like that,” Stiles’ dad said.

“Maybe not, but I do anyway.”

His dad sighed heavily. “I know.” He pinned Stiles with his eyes. “Tell me about Kate.”

Stiles felt a growl building in his throat at the surprise mention of her name. Stiles forced himself to calm down, and then he said, “She’s not very nice.”

His dad snorted. “I’m going to guess that’s an understatement. I’m also looking into Chris Argent.”

Stiles choked on the food he’d just swallowed. “You what?”

“I just asked around to a couple of local LEOs I know. No one’s heard of him. Strange for a guy who supposedly supplies fire arms to law enforcement.”

“Yeah, weird,” Stiles said.

“But back to Kate,” his dad said, pulling another 180 and keeping Stiles off balance. “What was she really doing out at Derek’s today?”

“Trying to rattle his chain,” Stiles said. Which wasn’t a lie. Stiles got the impression that Kate liked knowing that she’d caused Derek pain, and enjoyed twisting the knife.

“With guns?”

“Maybe she couldn’t think of another excuse to show up?” Stiles suggested.

What he really thought was that Kate had hoped to get another shot at Derek. Literally. But only after he’d told her who the Alpha was. None of which he could tell his dad.

“Hmm, maybe. What can you tell me about Mr. Harris?”

Yep, Stiles was gonna get whiplash. “Besides the fact that he’s a dick?”

Stiles’ dad raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything about Stiles’ language, which meant he had bigger fish to fry.

“You suggested it might be a student. We think that’s a good avenue to explore. It’s possible someone decided to use the animal attacks as a cover, make it look like the same person or animal was responsible. Who would you suggest we look at?”

Stiles flailed and nearly fell off his chair. “You want me to narc on someone who could beat me to a pulp with one hand tied behind his back?”

For a moment Stiles actually forgot that he could defend himself these days, so horrified was he at the prospect of someone finding out he’d turned them in to his dad the Sheriff.

“No one is going to beat you up,” Stiles’ dad said, and for a second there he sound surprisingly like Derek. “No one’s going to find out you gave me their name. We’re going through Mr. Harris’ detention records, and we’ve also spoken to Harris himself for a list of names. I’d just like your take on it, since you’re a student as well, and see them in a different light. Who do you think we should look at first?”

Stiles sighed. “Is Bill Smith on your list?”

Stiles’ dad nodded. “Bill Smith sounds like the name of someone who’d grow up to be a banker, not assault their teacher.”

“I know. I think he’s overcompensating for the name. He used to go by Will and got called Willy a lot when he was younger. There was a limerick and everything. And you don’t want to hear all that.”

Stiles almost felt bad for handing Bill over to his dad, since he knew that none of the students, not even Bill, had attacked Mr. Harris. Plus, he felt rotten making extra work for his dad, especially given how tired he looked. Still, if they found drugs on Bill, or the bat Stiles was pretty sure he’d used to smash some headlights (including Betty’s) in the student parking lot, then they’d at least have solved an open case and gotten a budding drug dealer off the streets.

“Anyone else?”

Stiles shook his head. “He’s the only one I can think of who might do more than talk about doing something like this.”

“Okay, thanks. Do you think Kate will back off?”

“No,” Stiles snorted before he could censor himself. “I think she enjoys tormenting him too much. And the more someone tells her not to do it, the more of a challenge it is.”

“So I’ve made it worse,” his dad said.

Stiles shrugged. “In the world of Kate Argent, I think worse is relative.”

“I really wish he wasn’t staying out there alone.”

“You’re preaching to the choir on that one,” Stiles said.

“I know I am,” Stiles’ dad said. “We’ll keep him safe.”

“Thanks.”

~*~*~*~

The next day at school Stiles cornered Danny at the lockers. “Hey, Danny, what are you doing after practice today?”

“Homework,” Danny said.

“I could really use your help with something.”

“Unless it’s chemistry, no. On second thought, even if it’s chemistry, no.”

“I’ll pay you,” Stiles said, skipping backwards to stay in front of Danny as he tried to leave his locker and head to class.

“Oh, well, in that case . . . still no.”

“And I’ll owe you one.”

“It’s illegal, isn’t it?” Danny said.

“That depends on how you define ‘illegal’.”

Danny shook his head and pushed past Stiles. Before he got lost in the crush of students, Stiles called out, “And I’ll provide the eye candy!”

Stiles took out his phone and texted Derek. _meet me after practice_

 _why_ came back moments later. Stiles grinned as he imagined the frown-y face Derek was probably wearing.

_I need your muscles_

_I’m not holding your piece of crap car up so you can change the tire_

_Betty’s not a piece of crap, and that’s not what I need anyway_

_I don’t move furniture either_

_just be there_

_please_

_I’ll make dinner_

_you owe me, especially since you didn’t show last night_

_don’t think we didn’t notice_

Derek never responded to Stiles’ last text, but he wasn’t surprised to see Derek standing at the sidelines during practice. Stiles smiled at waved. Derek’s frown deepened.

A moment later Danny bumped Stiles’ shoulder. “I never said I’d do it.”

“You never said you wouldn’t!” Stiles called after him.

When Stiles returned his attention to Scott, he was staring at him. “What?”

“What was that about?”

“I need Danny’s help,” Stiles said.

Scott leaned in and whispered, “With being gay?”

“What? No! With the computer,” Stiles said.

“Oh. Wait, why do you need Danny’s help?”

“I want to break into the traffic cams.”

“Oh. Why?”

“The night Derek got shot, he was tracking the Alpha. If I can find him on the traffic camera, I might be able to backtrack and figure out who he is.”

“Stilinski! Something you’d like to share with the rest of us?” Coach Finstock bellowed.

“No, sir, coach,” Stiles said, ignoring Jackson’s snicker in the background.

“Then maybe you’d like to join us and _run the drill_.”

“Right, coach,” Stiles said, and then took off running when he realized it was his turn and he’d been holding up the line.

Stiles snatched the ball out of the air on a pass from the assistant coach and raced towards the defender. He ran straight at the other player, but just before they collided Stiles spun around him and there was nothing between him and the goal but Danny. Stiles could see the shot, saw himself leaping and swinging, saw the ball miss being caught in the head of Danny’s stick by a hair, saw it hit the back of the net.

Stiles didn’t need Derek’s low growl to tell him it would be a bad idea, so at the last second he pulled his shot and the ball landed harmlessly inside the webbing of Danny’s stick. Danny gave Stiles a weird look before tossing the ball back to the assistant coach. Stiles ignored it and jogged back to the end of the line.

Danny came up to Stiles when they were switching drills. “Isn’t that your boyfriend?” He indicated Derek standing on the sidelines.

“Uh,” Stiles said. “You heard about that?”

“Everyone’s heard about that,” Danny said. “I’ll be there tonight. Your place, right?”

Stiles nodded, kind of surprised that Danny had agreed. “Because of Derek?”

“Because now I’m curious,” Danny said before he jogged back to the goal.

Curious could be bad, Stiles thought. But he really needed Danny’s help, so he’d just have to make sure that Danny’s curiosity was not satisfied.

“What am I doing here?” Derek said when Stiles met him on the sidelines after practice ended.

“Lurking?” Stiles said.

Derek’s eyebrows went up.

“Okay, stop with the eyebrows of doom, alright? I need you to act as incentive for someone.”

“Who?”

“Danny.”

“The kid you were just talking to? Why?”

“He doesn’t know it yet, but I need him to help me break into the traffic cameras.”

Stiles told Derek his plan, and Derek just stared at him for a moment before saying, “That’s actually a good idea.”

Stiles grinned. “The _king_ of good ideas.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Why do you need Danny for that?”

“Because he’s better at this kind of thing than I am, and we don’t have time for me to figure it out on my own.”

“But you got into the . . . other thing without his help, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but that was more a matter of knowing my dad so well and him not being suspicious enough of me to change his password.”

“What if he changes his password now?”

Stiles grinned. “I’ll get an e-mail notification. Besides, I’ve already set up another way in just in case.”

“Okay,” Derek said. “So what do you need incentive for? Didn’t he already say he’d help?”

“Because of the incentive,” Stiles said. “Which is you, or your muscles, actually.” When Derek still looked confused, Stiles said, “Eye candy.”

Derek’s expression went thunderous.

“You’re supposed to look hot, not menacing. Though menacing might do it for some guys, I’m not sure Danny’s one of . . . . Ow.”

Stiles rubbed the back of his head where Derek had smacked him.

“You offered me up as eye candy?”

“Not at first,” Stiles said. “I offered to pay him, and to owe him a favor, but I was getting desperate, so . . . .”

Derek’s jaw worked.

“We need his help,” Stiles said insistently. “So you, mister.” Stiles poked Derek in the chest. “Are taking one for the team.”

Derek grabbed Stiles’ finger.

“Not literally taking one of anything,” Stiles said. “Please don’t break my finger.”

“Fine,” Derek growled. “I’ll be there.”

“Thank you,” Stiles breathed. “And the finger?”

Derek glanced at Stiles’ finger, and then let it go.

“Thank you for that, too. Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Derek said.

“Do you need a hug?”

Derek glared at him. “I don’t need a hug.”

“Actually,” Stiles said. “I could use a hug.” At Derek’s look he said, “What? It’s been a rough couple of days, okay? And I think I deserve a . . . .”

Derek hauled Stiles up against him. Probably to shut him up. Stiles didn’t care why, because the moment his face was pressed against Derek and he inhaled the scent of Derek and leather, Stiles began to relax. He relaxed even more when he felt Derek’s face pressed against the side of his head, breathing him in as well.

When they pulled apart Stiles noticed Danny watching them with a strange expression on his face.

“When he said he was curious, you don’t think . . . ?” Stiles gestured between the two of them.

“Think what?” Derek said.

“That he wants to, you know, watch us. Do stuff. Together,” Stiles hissed.

Derek laughed at that. Really laughed.

“It’s not funny,” Stiles said.

“Yeah, it is,” Derek said. “Because if that’s the case, you’ll be the one taking one for the team.”

“Oh, well, that’s real mature,” Stiles said. “And funny,” he added to Derek’s back. “You’re hilarious!” Stiles called out after him. “I hate you,” Stiles muttered.

He was not going to be able to get that image out of his head now.

~*~

Derek’s Camaro was already parked in the driveway when Stiles got home. He pulled Betty in beside it. Derek leaned against the side of the Camaro, arms crossed over his chest, familiar glower on his face. Stiles got out and looked at Derek over the top of the Jeep.

“Didn’t anybody ever tell you that your face might stay that way?”

Stiles ignored the deepening of Derek’s frown and ducked back inside Betty for his book bag and duffel. When he popped back up,Stiles said, “Or is that what happened? Is your face stuck like that now? Perpetual frown?”

Before Derek could offer a scathing reply, Danny pulled into the driveway and parked behind Betty. He blushed a little bit when he got out of his car and saw Derek standing there, but when he looked at Stiles his gaze was steady, almost daring Stiles to change his mind about using Derek to lure Danny in.

“Well, thank you both for coming,” Stiles said, earning twin glares, though Danny’s didn’t hold a candle to Derek’s. It was still eerie. “Okay, let’s get this over with before my dad gets home.”

For a moment Stiles thought Danny might back out at the mention of Stiles’ dad, the Sheriff. He was getting ready to kick himself when Danny steeled his shoulders and slammed his car door shut.

“That’s the spirit,” Stiles said, earning himself another glare.

Stiles led the way into the house and up to his bedroom, offering beverage and snacks as they passed the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, they both turned him down.

“Okay,” Stiles said after he dumped his bags in the corner. “What do you need?”

“Quiet,” Danny said, drawing forth a snort from Derek.

“Good luck with that,” Derek said.

“No comments from the peanut gallery,” Stiles said. At the look Derek gave him, Stiles added, “Almond? Or are you more of a pecan guy?”

“Stiles,” Danny said, halting Stiles’ babble.

“Right. Here.” Stiles pointed Danny to his desk and the laptop sitting atop it.

As Danny sat, Stiles couldn’t resist poking at Derek. “You can just lounge on the bed like you usually do.”

Derek crossed his arms over his chest and pinned Stiles with a glare that promised retribution later. Stiles glanced at Danny and saw him staring unabashedly at Derek.

“Or that,” Stiles said, waving a hand in Derek’s direction. “That works, I guess.”

Derek rolled his eyes. He shrugged angrily out of his leather jacket and tossed it across the foot of the bed. He stalked over to Stiles’ bookcase, either looking for something to read, or, as a glance at Danny’s face supported, allowing Danny to take a good long look. If that was the case, Stiles was so dead later.

“How did you manage to score with someone who looks like that?” Danny asked quietly.

Stiles thought he should take offense at that, but he’d seen Derek without a shirt on, so he could totally understand where Danny was coming from. Still, he rolled his eyes, knowing that the comment hadn’t been made low enough for Derek not to hear. “Just lucky, I guess,” he said dryly.

~*~

Stiles darted a wide-eyed glance at Derek when he heard his dad’s cruiser pull into the driveway. Derek closed the book he actually appeared to have been engrossed in and set it on the mattress.

“I’ll take care of your dad,” Derek said as he stood. “You guys keep working.”

“Thank you,” Stiles said.

As soon as Derek left, Stiles turned back to the computer where Danny was still tapping keys. He hadn’t even looked away from the screen at the interruption. Stiles didn’t ask if Danny was almost there yet because he’d already been told by Derek to shut up twice and kicked in the shin once by Danny. Despite his werewolf healing, that still stung.

“Relax,” Danny said, sensing Stiles’ agitation even though he didn’t have the really cool werewolf senses. “I’m almost there.”

Danny had been surprisingly zen since the mild freak out when Stiles told him what they needed his help with. Stiles had explained that they were trying to do something good, but suggested that Danny really didn’t want to know the details. With another look at Derek propped against Stiles’ pillows, Danny had agreed that he really, really didn’t.

Stiles jumped when his dad knocked on the door and then poked his head inside, even though he’d heard Derek greet him, and had heard his dad’s footsteps on the stairs as he came up to take his shower.

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles said. “How was your day?”

“Good,” Stiles’ dad said, and Stiles was glad to note that it hadn’t sounded rote. “Derek said you guys were studying.”

“Um, yeah,” Stiles said. “You remember Danny, from lacrosse?”

“Of course. Hi, Danny.”

“Hi, Sheriff Stilinski,” Danny politely replied.

“I’m just gonna go take a quick shower,” Stiles’ dad said.

“Okay. We’re almost done here, so I’ll be down to start dinner in just a minute,” Stiles said.

“Don’t worry about it,” his dad said. “Derek’s got it covered.”

“He . . . wait, what?” Stiles said, but he was talking to the back of the closed door.

Danny sniggered. He didn’t stop even when Stiles said, “Keep typing.”

It seemed to take forever, but it was only fifteen minutes later when Danny gave a triumphant sound and then said, “I’m in.”

Stiles raised both arms in the air in victory. “Yes!”

Stiles stared at the live feed from one of the traffic cams that was currently playing on his screen. Danny walked Stiles through the process of switching cameras and finding the archived footage.

“Okay, that’s good,” Stiles said. “I can handle it from here.”

Stiles wasn’t trying to be rude, but he wanted Danny out of there before he saw something that he shouldn’t. Luckily it hadn’t been necessary for Stiles to specify the camera he wanted to start with, so Danny had no idea what they were looking for, or where or when. Also, Stiles had paid attention to everything Danny did to hack the system, and he had a very good memory, so Stiles had no doubt he could get back into the system even if he lost the connection for some reason.

Danny gave him a look, but then he shook his head. “I’m not even gonna ask.”

“Smart move,” Stiles said.

“No, the really smart move would’ve been to just say no.”

“Well, you know what they say about curiosity,” Stiles said.

“Yeah,” Danny said dryly. “It killed the cat.”

“Nobody’s getting killed,” Stiles said. “Hopefully.”

“That’s not very comforting,” Danny said. “Fifty bucks,” he added as he stood and put on his coat. “And that favor.”

Stiles’ mouth fell open. “But . . . what about curiosity, and . . . .” He indicated the bed where Derek had been stretched out reading for the past two hours.

“Curiosity tipped the scales in your favor, and the eye candy didn’t hurt,” Danny added with a glance at the bed, as if remembering how Derek had looked sprawled there. “But a guy needs to be compensated for his work. Unless . . . .”

“No!” Stiles said. “No threesomes or, or voyeurism, not happening!”

Danny’s mouth hung open. “I don’t even want to know how your brain works, do I?”

“No, probably not,” Stiles agreed.

“Fifty bucks,” Danny repeated.

Stiles sighed. “Fine. I’ll have it for you tomorrow.” At Danny’s skeptical expression, Stiles said, “I don’t have it on me, I’ll have to borrow it from Derek.”

At that comment, Danny’s face did something Stiles had only ever seen on his dad. Or Scott. “Look, Derek’s hot and all, but he’s not getting you into trouble, is he? Or making you do stuff you don’t want to?”

“Wow,” Stiles said after he recovered from his surprise. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For thinking I might be the innocent, and possibly injured, party here. My dad’s worried I’m going to be a bad influence on Derek.”

Danny gave a snort of laughter. “Only you, Stilinski,” he said, shaking his head.

“What does _that_ mean?”

Danny didn’t answer, and Stiles was forced to follow him down the stairs and to the front door. When Stiles retraced his steps to the kitchen, Derek and Stiles’ dad were talking through the open side door, Derek manning the grill and looking surprisingly domestic with a spatula in his hand, while Stiles’ dad rummaged through the refrigerator for the cheese to go on the burgers.

If Stiles’ eyes burned a little bit at the sight of two of the three people he cared about most in the world spending time together and getting along, no one had to know but him. And Derek, Stiles amended when Derek glanced at him and frowned as if trying to puzzle out what was wrong. Stupid werewolf senses.

The End of Episode 6


	7. Episode Seven: addicted to the numb living in the cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles figures out who the Alpha is. What side will Derek choose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of angst this episode.
> 
> Written: March 18, 2013

After dinner clean up Stiles excused himself to go upstairs and do his homework. A few minutes later Stiles heard Derek thank Stiles’ dad for the meal and take his leave. Moments after the Camaro started up Stiles heard Pat Sajak tell someone to spin the wheel. Stiles cracked the window for Derek, and then he brought up the camera feed on his computer. He really should be doing homework, but identifying the Alpha took priority.

“What time was it?” Stiles asked when he heard the window slide up.

He’d already isolated the traffic camera at the intersection closest to the building where Derek had been shot. Now he just needed to know when so he could fast forward the archived footage to the appropriate time.

“Around midnight,” Derek said, knowing what Stiles meant even without a clear question.

Stiles found the appropriate day and began fast forwarding the recording. He stopped every couple of minutes to check the timestamp. When he was getting closer, Stiles slowed down the fast forward and he and Derek both stared at the screen. Finally they saw something and Stiles hit play. Unfortunately, it was too far away from the camera to get a clear enough view to make out any detail.

A car came into view and was almost immediately pulled to a crooked stop in the middle of the road. Someone got out of the car, but they were too far away to identify.

“Nothing,” Derek snarled. “Switch to a closer camera.”

“Wait a second,” Stiles said. “I just want to confirm something.”

Stiles fast forwarded the recording, stopping it when something else appeared on the screen. Another vehicle had pulled up behind the stopped car.

“That look like a red Tahoe to you?” Stiles said.

“It could be,” Derek said. “We need a better camera angle.”

“On it,” Stiles said patiently.

Stiles pulled up the map that showed the locations of all the traffic cameras in the city. He chose one he thought would give them a better view of Kate’s approach. If she’d gotten off the highway and been heading to the Argent’s place, and was taking the most straightforward route, then . . . .

“There,” Stiles said when the car they were watching got close enough to the camera that they could identify the driver.

When Kate disappeared off one camera, Stiles jumped to the next. In this way they followed her progress through town.

“She doesn’t appear to be hunting anything,” Stiles said.

“No,” Derek agreed.

Kate was nearing the intersection and Stiles was getting ready to switch to the next camera. Suddenly something leapt onto the top of Kate’s car and Stiles jerked back in his chair in surprise. The vehicle swerved a little at the impact, and then it disappeared off the screen.

“What the hell was that?” Stiles said, hand shaking as he reached for the key that would bring up the map.

“That was the Alpha,” Derek said, a low growl in his throat as he spoke the words.

“Laura didn’t look like that!” Stiles said as he queued up the next recording.

“No,” Derek agreed. “He’s . . . misshapen.”

“Ya think?”

“There’s something wrong with him.”

“Because he was crazy when he killed Laura and stole her power? Or maybe just because he wasn’t supposed to be an Alpha?”

“I don’t know,” Derek said.

They watched the rest of the altercation play out in near silence. As much as Stiles hated her, and part of him wished that the Alpha had been successful in killing her that night, Stiles had to admire Kate’s poise in the face of the sudden attack. Luckily for him, Stiles knew how to get under her skin.

“Well, we were right about one thing,” Stiles said.

“What’s that?”

“The Alpha was hunting Kate.”

“Yeah,” Derek said. “We still don’t know who he is, though.”

“No,” Stiles said. “That’s going to take more time. I need to go back to where he first appeared. Here.” Stiles pointed to the camera on the map. “And see if I can track him back.”

“If he was in Alpha form the entire way, he might not be on the streets. He could’ve used the rooftops. He might’ve even done that if he wasn’t in Alpha form.”

“Well, let’s hope he didn’t do that, otherwise we’re screwed.”

Derek didn’t say anything to that, but when Stiles placed his fingers on the keyboard to pull up another camera, Derek covered Stiles’ hands with his own. “Tomorrow.”

“No,” Stiles protested. “I can . . . .”

“You can tomorrow. You need to get some sleep.”

“It’s still early,” Stiles said.

“It’s after eleven, and you have school in the morning, for which you didn’t do any of your homework.”

“I can do my homework in the morning before school and in study hall,” Stiles said.

Derek’s response was to take Stiles’ hands and pull him out of the chair.

“Okay,” Stiles said. “Just let me shut it down.” Now that he knew what time it was, he suddenly felt tired. Stiles rolled his shoulders when he stood up from the computer and stretched his back.

“Bed,” Derek said.

“I need to brush my teeth first,” Stiles said.

When Stiles returned from the bathroom, Derek still stood in the middle of his room. “Wow, you’re serious about this,” Stiles said as he toed off his sneakers, kicked off his jeans, and pulled off one of his shirts, leaving him in a t-shirt and boxers.

“I’m turning off the light now,” Stiles warned before doing just that, and then climbing beneath the covers.

Stiles felt the ghost of a hand on his back, and spoke through his yawn. “You’re a lot more like Papa Bear than you are the Big Bad Wolf.”

“I think you’re mixing up your fairytales,” Derek said, speaking more gently than Stiles had ever heard him speak before.

It was the last thing Stiles remembered until his alarm went off the next morning.

~*~

Stiles was wired from lack of sleep. He did his homework – all of it – before classes began, sitting on the landing while Scott and Allison held hands and cooed at each other.

All day long Stiles was jittery, anxious to get back to the traffic camera footage so he could figure out who the Alpha was. The feeling of immediacy only got worse when he overheard someone talking at lunch about two bodies that had been found in the woods. The moment he heard, Stiles called his dad, but before he could ask if the rumors were true his dad interrupted to make sure Stiles was alright, then said, “We’ll talk later. I love you,” and disconnected.

“Well?” Scott said.

“He hung up on me before I could ask him anything,” Stiles said. “Which means he’s probably still at the crime scene,” he added thoughtfully.

Or he was in the middle of a shit storm because of the whole unsolved animal attacks mess.

Stiles wondered if Derek had heard about the recent deaths. Though he had no details yet, Stiles didn’t believe it was a coincidence. The Alpha attacked Mr. Harris Saturday night. He’d probably been frustrated that Derek had intervened. The deaths were right on the heels of the other attack because the Alpha hadn’t satisfied its need to kill. Stiles hadn’t thought about it before, but now that Derek had done more than attempt to track him, had actually thwarted his attempt to kill Mr. Harris, it was possible that the Alpha would go after Derek just like it had gone after Laura.

Stiles texted Derek, _where r u_

The reply came back moments later. _lumber yard why_

Stiles did a double take as he tried to imagine Derek at a lumber yard, presumably doing something as mundane as purchasing lumber, instead of brooding out at the old Hale house. He hesitated before typing in his reply. He didn’t want to give too much away should anyone (aka, his dad) happen to see his texts to Derek.

_another incident last night, no details yet, meet me @ mine after practice_

It took longer than Stiles would have liked for Derek to reply. _I’ll be there_

Stiles sighed in relief and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

“Well?” Scott said after Allison had gone off to class.

“Well what?” Stiles said.

“The murders!” Scott whispered loudly.

Stiles looked around, but no one in the teeming hallway was paying them any attention. “You remember them?” he said. “I thought you were too busy cooing with Allison like love struck doves.”

Scott slapped Stiles’ arm. Stiles didn’t try too hard to move out of the way.

“We’re not doves. And yes, I remember. Also, we don’t coo. So?”

“So nothing. Derek’s gonna meet me at the house after practice and maybe I can find out more.”

“You mean . . . ?” Scott waggled his fingers in the air.

Stiles pushed Scott’s hands down. “Yes, Scott, after I magic fingers the truth out of my computer.”

Derek was nowhere to be seen at practice, but Stiles still felt his presence. “I know you’re out there,” Stiles said softly. “Lurking in the woods like a creeper. You can come out, you know. It’s not like anyone’s going to tell my bad boy boyfriend that he can’t watch practice.”

The next time Stiles looked, Derek stood stiffly on the sidelines, glowering at anyone who glanced his way. Stiles laughed so hard he doubled over with it.

“What’s so funny?” Scott said.

Stiles pointed towards the opposite sideline and tried to speak, but he broke out in laughter again.

“Seriously, what?”

“Derek,” Stiles gasped.

“What about him?”

“I was just, oh god.” Stiles wiped tears from his eyes. “I was just teasing Derek about everyone thinking he’s my boyfriend.”

“Because you _said_ he was your boyfriend,” Scott unnecessarily reminded him.

“Well, yeah, there’s that. But the point is, he’s all, glower puss, which is really not the expression of someone who’s in love with a nubile young thing such as myself.”

“Well,” Scott said, glancing over towards the sideline. “It is _you_ , after all.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Because I’m jail bait?”

“Because you can be annoying.”

“Hey!”

Scott shrugged in apology, then took off down the field, running the drill. Stiles glanced over at Derek, who had turned his back to the field. He didn’t hear any incriminating laughter, but he was pretty sure Derek’s shoulders were shaking.

~*~

Derek was waiting in the driveway when Stiles and Scott pulled up in the Jeep. They trooped up to Stiles’ bedroom before any of them spoke.

“I’m going to see if any kind of report has been entered into the system yet,” Stiles said.

Scott watched avidly as Stiles broke into the Sheriff Department’s records. A file had been opened on the new murders, but so far the only thing in it were the statements from the two kids who’d stumbled upon the bodies, which had been badly burnt. There was no doubt in Stiles’ mind who’d done it, but the fact was just icing on the cake.

“We should check out the crime scene,” Stiles said.

“Investigators are still there,” Derek said. “I’ll check it out later tonight when they’re gone.”

“How do you know they’re still there?” Stiles said.

“Because I went to check it out, and they were still there,” Derek said.

“You didn’t tell me you were going,” Stiles said.

Derek raised an eyebrow that clearly said, I don’t need to ask your permission.

Stiles sighed. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, if something had happened to you, I wouldn’t have known where you were.”

“I do know how to be stealthy,” Derek said.

“I know that.”

“And I can take care of myself.”

“I know that, too, it’s just . . . being stealthy and being able to take care of yourself didn’t keep you from being shot. I don’t think I could go through that again.”

Derek’s eyebrows went up.

“Yeah, of course, you probably don’t want to go through it again, either.”

“Wait,” Scott interrupted Stiles’ angsting. “How’d you even know where to go?”

Derek shrugged. “I eavesdropped on a couple of deputies, and then went for a run through the woods.”

“And what would you have said if they caught you? Your amazing powers of stealth aside.”

“That I was out for a run,” Derek said. He didn’t add the ‘duh’ at the end, but it was still evident.

“And if they didn’t believe you?” Stiles knew all about certain members of the Sheriff’s Department not believing people when they were just out for a stroll and not trying to get into any trouble at all.

Derek shrugged. “I would’ve just told your dad that you asked me to check it out.”

“You would’ve blamed _me_?” Stiles said indignantly. “That’s evil. And kind of brilliant,” he admitted. His dad would totally believe it.

“He’s not just a pretty face,” Scott said, impressed. “Er, uh, that’s not what I meant,” he said when they both looked at him.

~*~*~*~

Derek fell asleep on the bed while Stiles and Scott went through the archived traffic camera footage. He brought up the footage of the Alpha leaping on top of Kate’s car. Stiles hadn’t warned Scott and was rewarded with a high pitched scream that hurt his ears a little bit. Stiles laughed so hard he couldn’t defend himself when Scott started punching him, and he fell off the chair. Derek rolled his eyes.

When he’d regained his seat and wiped the tears out of his eyes, Stiles replayed that bit of the recording, slowing it down so they could determine from which direction the Alpha had come, so he knew which camera to check next.

“Wow,” Scott said. “That’s nasty. You guys don’t look like that, do you?”

“No,” Stiles said. “Laura didn’t either.”

“What did Laura look like?” Scott asked.

“Like us, usually,” Stiles said, “but when she shifted to her full wolf form, she was a beautiful black wolf.”

It took Stiles a moment to shake the memory and get back to what he was doing. He found the correct timestamp and watched the footage three times before he sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Derek was right. He came in on the roofs.”

When there was no comment from the area of the bed, Stiles glanced over. Derek had fallen asleep. Probably because he stayed up all night to keep watch over an indefensible house, Stiles thought. If only he’d just accept Stiles’ dad’s offer of the guestroom. Stiles got up and pulled an extra blanket over Derek.

Derek’s eyes blinked open when Stiles tucked the blanket around his shoulders. “Go back to sleep, sourwolf.” Surprisingly, Derek did just that.

Scott gave Stiles a look when stiles sat back down, but he ignored it in favor of glaring at the screen. “This is going to be harder than I thought.”

Stiles printed off a copy of the traffic camera map. He marked off the cameras he’d already checked, highlighting the ones where he first saw the Alpha and what might have been Chris Argent’s Tahoe pulling up behind Kate’s car. Because the Alpha had taken to the roofs in his hunt for Kate, they couldn’t follow him in a straight line back to where he’d shifted. Stiles was going to have to check every camera in that quadrant, spreading out from where they’d first spotted the Alpha landing on Kate’s car, and hoping for another sighting.

It was boring work, but Stiles couldn’t do a half-assed job of it. He had to check the streets, as well as what he could see of the buildings, both between and atop them. It took five cameras before Stiles spotted the Alpha again.

“Gotcha!” Stiles said.

Scott, who’d given up watching the recordings in favor of doing their homework, glanced up at that. “Where?” he said, straining to see, even after Stiles pointed out the Alpha to him.

It was just a glimpse of him at the edge of the screen, and Stiles might’ve missed seeing him if he hadn’t been so determined to find him. Stiles highlighted that camera on the map, glad he didn’t have to add another red X, and made a copy of that portion of the recording, labeling it with the camera number and adding it to the file of recordings he’d created.

With the two sightings, Stiles tried to determine the direction the Alpha had been coming from. His theory presumed that the Alpha had been moving in a straight line. He most likely would’ve taken the shortest route to Kate once he’d caught her scent, but that didn’t take into consideration the fact that Kate had been a moving target. Still, it was the best place to start. Stiles pulled up the next camera on the line he’d drawn extending through the two sighting intersections.

~*~

Derek and Scott both stayed for supper, though Scott first asked Stiles what they were having before agreeing to stay. When he found out that it would be chicken patties and tater tots, Scott was fully on board. Stiles started to count out the patties, and then decided to just cook the entire package. He was still eating for two (the werewolf part of himself totally counted as a second person, especially given the appetite he’d had since he got bitten), and Scott was a growing boy. Stiles doubted that there’d be any leftovers. He dumped the entire bag of tater tots onto another cookie sheet and placed both of them in the oven.

Stiles’ dad was quiet during dinner, and Stiles knew he blamed himself for these deaths, for not having figured out who, or what, was killing people in his county. Stiles didn’t bother asking if he was okay, and for once he didn’t badger him about details of the murders. He was glad that Derek and Scott had both agreed to stay because their presence was a distraction for his dad.

After dinner, Stiles and Derek argued about Stiles going with him to examine the crime scene.

“How are you going to explain your absence to your dad?”

“I’ll just tell him I’m with you.”

“Doing what?”

“Uh . . . . Actually, he’ll probably think we’re making out in the backseat of your car.”

“Is that what you really want him to think?”

Stiles remembered the comments his dad had already made about him and Derek. Did he really want to encourage those awkward moments? However, maybe being able to go with Derek would be worth a few uncomfortable conversations with his dad wondering whether he and Derek were more than what they were. Except for how they were actually more, his dad just had the wrong idea of what kind of more they were.

“Besides, your dad needs you,” Derek said before Stiles could answer.

“Low blow,” Stiles said, but he couldn’t deny that Derek was right. Stiles shouldn’t leave his dad alone tonight. He sighed. “Fine.”

Derek agreed to give Scott a ride home, but the bike wouldn’t fit inside the Camaro so they left it in Betty and made plans for Stiles to pick Scott up for school in the morning.

“Call me,” Stiles told Derek before he slid into the Camaro.

“It’ll probably be late,” Derek said.

“I don’t care . . . .”

“If it’s important, I’ll call you tonight, otherwise it’ll wait until tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Stiles relented, but only because he couldn’t actually force Derek to call him. “Don’t forget the game tomorrow.”

“I won’t forget the game,” Derek said as he started the Camaro.

“Okay. Be careful.”

Derek just gave Stiles a look as he backed out of the driveway.

 _I mean it, b careful!_ Stiles texted.

He didn’t get a reply. Then again, he hadn’t expected one.

Stiles went back inside the house and peeked in on his dad. He sat staring at the television screen, not really seeing it, an untouched glass of whiskey in his hand. He looked up when Stiles stepped into the room.

“Hey,” Stiles said.

“Hey. Listen.” Stiles’ dad rubbed his free hand over his face. “I’m sorry I’m not very good company tonight.”

“Hey, no, that’s . . . understandable.” Stiles’ grimace matched his dad’s at the lame comment. “Was it . . . the same?”

“You know I can’t talk to you about an ongoing investigation. Or any investigation at all, where you’re concerned.”

“You can tell me what’s going to be in the paper,” Stiles said reasonably, sitting down on the edge of the sofa nearest his dad’s recliner, and leaning forward.

His dad sighed. “They were burnt. Badly.”

Stiles was not surprised that fire was involved. Not if the Alpha was taking revenge for the Hale fire. Though he still couldn’t figure out how Laura fit the pattern. Stiles shook that train of thought away – he needed to concentrate on the most recent murders now.

“Were they . . . like the others? Animal attack?”

“It was impossible to tell,” Stiles’ dad said. “With the . . . it was pretty grisly.”

“Do you know who they are yet?”

“No. The coroner will have to attempt to ID them.”

His dad being so forthcoming with information made Stiles rethink his determination on the untouched whiskey. This might be glass number two.

“Why don’t you get some rest?” Stiles suggested.

“I can’t. I brought files home to look at. I need to catch a break on this case.”

Stiles’ heart did not skip a beat when he realized that the physical files were within his grasp. Because that would’ve been wrong. Especially with his dad sounding so defeated.

“Well, okay. I’ll leave you to it, then. I need to do some homework, anyway. Don’t overdo it,” he added, very deliberately not looking at the glass of whiskey. “You need your rest.”

Stiles left his dad to go upstairs and actually did do some homework until his dad poked his head into Stiles’ room on his way to bed. He’d considered continuing his work on the traffic camera footage, made even more important in the wake of the recent murders, but Stiles didn’t want to get caught up in that and lose the rare opportunity to get a look at his dad’s files. Besides, if he fell behind at school it might raise red flags, and Stiles didn’t want anyone looking at him too closely.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Stiles’ dad said.

“I won’t,” Stiles promised. “I’m almost done here.” He indicated the textbook that lay open before him, and the worksheet he was completing. As he did so, Stiles couldn’t resist a glance at the cell phone he’d propped up against the laptop he’d moved to the side to make room for his books.

When Stiles looked back at his dad, there was an expression of amusement beneath the exhaustion. “Waiting for a call?”

Caught, Stiles fumbled for an explanation. Finally, he went with the truth. “I thought Derek might call.”

“You just saw him,” Stiles’ dad said, keeping his tone neutral.

“I know,” Stiles said, not defensive at all.

His dad looked a little bit uncomfortable, but he said, “You told Kate Argent that you and Derek were seeing each other.”

“That’s just because I could tell that Kate was going to try to hurt him. Besides, it wasn’t exactly a lie. We see each other, like, every day.”

“Clever,” Stiles’ dad said.

Stiles shrugged. He waited for his dad to say something else, but he just shook his head as he stepped further into the room. “Give me a hug goodnight.”

Stiles didn’t even consider putting up a token resistance. He thought maybe they both needed a hug. His dad cradled the back of Stiles’ head and pressed his lips to the side of it.

“I love you, son.”

“I love you, too, Dad,” Stiles said fiercely, giving his dad an extra squeeze before releasing him.

Stiles’ dad was slow in drawing his hand away from Stiles’ head. “Get some sleep.”

“You, too,” Stiles said, ignoring his dad’s ‘I’m the dad’ expression.

Stiles sat back down at his desk and listened to his dad get ready for bed while he finished up the worksheet. Stiles packed his books into his backpack and then went to the bathroom for his own nightly ritual of pissing and brushing his teeth, and then pulled down his blankets and sat on the edge of the bed until his dad’s even, heavy breaths confirmed that he’d fallen into a deep sleep aided by the alcohol he’d drunk.

Stiles snuck downstairs and found the briefcase in which his dad carried home files. It was locked, but since his dad kept the key to the briefcase with the key to the evidence room, Stiles had no trouble getting into it. A wave of guilt flooded Stiles as he opened the case, but he reminded himself that he was doing this for a good cause.

Stiles felt a frisson of excitement as he lifted the files out of the case. He looked at the labels affixed to each folder and decided to begin with the most recent murders, since he’d been able to find less information about them by hacking into the Sheriff Department’s system.

Stiles set the other folders aside and opened the one he wanted. The first thing he saw were crime scene photos. Stiles’ stomach rolled with nausea, but he forced himself to look at them, ignoring the bodies themselves at first as he examined the area in which they’d been so horrifically killed, looking for something, _anything_ , that might identify the killer.

Finally Stiles forced himself to look at the bodies. They were grotesque, but Stiles made himself look past that. He looked for the bites and claw marks that had been present on the other bodies, but he couldn’t make out anything. His dad was right, the bodies were too burnt. Stiles made a mental note to check tomorrow to see if the coroner’s report had been attached to the police report.

Stiles glanced through the rest of the file, reading the comments made by his dad and the other crime scene investigators. Nothing pertinent jumped out at him. Frustrated, Stiles closed the folder and chose the folder labeled with Mr. Harris’ name. He’d gotten so wrapped up in studying the traffic camera footage that he hadn’t returned to Mr. Harris’ file to see if anything had been added.

Stiles barely spared a glance for the photos of the classroom, and he skimmed the report, looking for something he didn’t already know. Stiles froze when he found it. After several rounds of questioning, Mr. Harris had finally admitted to meeting a girl at a bar. A girl who’d asked him about setting the perfect fire just weeks before the Hale fire had been set. It had to have been Kate (and most likely the reason he’d needed counseling so soon after the fire), but how the heck the Alpha had found that out, Stiles had no idea.

More importantly, Stiles didn’t know what he was going to do with that information. Stiles already knew that Kate was behind the fire, so he didn’t need the additional proof. He could tell his dad (if he could figure out how to explain where he’d gotten the information), but that would only bring to light the existence of hunters and werewolves, which Stiles couldn’t do. Stiles could use the information against Kate with her brother, presuming that Chris Argent actually held to the code himself.

He had seemed surprised to discover that Kate and Derek had dated, once upon a time. There were too many variables with that one. Chris Argent might be willing to remove any evidence of his sister’s wrong-doing (including Stiles and Derek), rather than hold her accountable for them. Stiles couldn’t take that chance. Just as it had been all along, it was up to him and Laura, and now him and Derek, to figure it out.

Stiles set the Harris file aside, and then Laura’s. He still couldn’t bring himself to look at it. Stiles chose one of the other two files at random and flipped through it, ignoring everything he and Laura had already looked at. Near the end was a notation that hadn’t been in the system, and Stiles mentally kicked himself for not having gone back and checked for updates to these older files. Beneath the man’s previous arrest for arson Stiles’ dad had written, _Questioned re Hale fire 6 yrs ago._

Stiles grabbed up the file for Garrison Myers and flipped through it. Next to the notation of previous employment as an arson investigator his dad has scribbled, _Investigated Hale fire 6 yrs ago. Ruled accidental???_

Stiles shouldn’t have been surprised that his dad had put two and two together. Of course they’d have looked for a connection between the victims, just as he and Laura had done. Stiles took a deep breath to steel himself, and then he opened Laura’s file. He turned the photos over, unable to look at them, and skimmed the file, doing his best to ignore as much as possible the reports of the things that had been done to her ( _tool marks consistent with a blade such as a sword_ ) as he searched for his dad’s conclusions.

Stiles finally found what he was looking for, a notation in his dad’s handwriting, and it made his blood run cold. _Left town after fire 6 yrs ago; returned just before murders began; why killed? Eliminating witnesses/loose ends?_

Stiles had never thought that someone might’ve considered Laura a ‘loose end’ that needed to be eliminated. If that was the case, Derek might also be in danger. Which reminded Stiles that Derek had been out to the latest crime scene. He wondered if Derek had tried to contact him while he’d been sneaking a peak at his dad’s files.

Before Stiles returned the files to the briefcase, he went back to Mr. Harris’ file and took a closer look at the interrogation that had yielded the information about a woman asking him about setting a fire. This time Stiles read the questions as carefully as he had the answers and discovered that his dad has specifically asked Mr. Harris about any connection he might have to the Hale fire.

Stiles quickly put the files back into the case, making sure they were placed in the order he’d found them, and put it and the key away. Stiles tiptoed up the stairs, skipping the step that squeaked, to the accompaniment of his dad’s soft snores. His hopes were dashed when he picked up his phone and there were no messages from Derek.

Undeterred, Stiles sent a message of his own. _find anything?_

Though what he really wanted to know, now that he’d read the files, was whether Derek was alright. If both Kate and the Alpha were after him, he wouldn’t stand a chance alone out there at the Hale house.

Stiles undressed and got under the covers. With the lights out, his phone was the only illumination in the room. Stiles clutched it in his hands and waited for Derek’s reply. If he didn’t hear from Derek soon, Stiles was going to keep sending him texts until Derek was forced to reply just to keep Stiles from sending him another. And if Derek never replied . . . .

Stiles was saved from having to go any further down that line of thought when his phone vibrated in his hand. _go to sleep_

Stiles grimaced, but before he could send a reply, his phone vibrated again. _we’ll talk tomorrow after the game_

Which meant that Derek hadn’t found anything. Or hadn’t found anything important that would solve the case. Stiles sighed. He had things to tell Derek, as well, and after reading his dad’s files, Stiles doubted he’d be able to fall asleep. As it turned out, his dad’s snores were the perfect background noise to fall asleep to.

~*~*~*~

Stiles was jumpy all day until he saw Derek at the game. When Scott had asked him what was wrong, he’d admitted that his dad had connected the deaths to the Hale fire. Stiles didn’t mention his concern for Derek, who might now be a target for the Alpha, or the fact that it might only be a matter of time before his dad connected the fire to other things that were happening in Derek’s life at that time, namely Kate.

Stiles only relaxed marginally when he saw his dad and Derek standing together on the opposite sideline, because Kate Argent had come with Allison, but Stiles didn’t need the looks Kate shot Derek to know that the reason she’d come had absolutely nothing to do with watching the game.

Stiles remained distracted and on edge until the game was over and he could join his dad and Derek. He did manage to give Scott a pep talk about approaching Allison even with her aunt right there, but his heart wasn’t in it. Something that was clear to Scott if the panicked look he gave Stiles was any indication.

“You’ll be fine!” Stiles said, and then left Scott to face Allison and Kate on his own.

“Hey,” Stiles said when he reached the sideline. “Thanks for coming.”

Stiles’ dad raised his eyebrows. “I think he was talking to you,” he told Derek.

“I was talking to both of you,” Stiles said indignantly.

“It was a good game,” his dad said.

“Was it?”

“You weren’t watching it?”

“I was a little distracted,” Stiles admitted.

“The more you let on that she bothers you, the more she’s going to try,” Stiles’ dad said. “Besides, I already checked her out to make sure she wasn’t packing heat.”

“Packing heat?” Stiles said with a little snicker. “Also, thanks.”

“All part of my job to serve and protect.”

Stiles threw his arms around his dad, knocking him off balance. “You’re the best.” He stepped back. “Just, you be careful, too.”

“I will.”

Stiles looked at Derek. “She’s looking at us. We should probably hug, too.”

Derek’s eyebrows dared Stiles to try it.

“To maintain our cover.”

“No . . . .”

Stiles slipped his arms around Derek and rested his head on Derek’s shoulder for a moment before stepping back. “We should probably kiss, too.”

Stiles’ dad groaned. “Shoot me now.”

“To make it look good,” Stiles said, struggling now to keep a straight face.

“No.”

“I’ll do it.”

Stiles raised up just a little bit and pressed his lips to Derek’s cheek. “Ooh,” he said, rubbing his lips. “Stubble. You’re going to have to shave if we’re going to be doing that.”

“We’re not.”

“Thank you,” Stiles’ dad said, sounding pained.

“So,” Stiles said cheerfully. “Pizza?”

~*~

After demolishing two large pizzas and two dozen wings at the House of Pizza (Stiles fought Scott over the last slice), Stiles drove Scott home, and then headed to his own home. Stiles could hear the shower running upstairs when he pulled into the driveway next to his dad’s cruiser. Stiles got out of Betty and leaned back in for his backpack and duffel bag. When Stiles emerged from Betty and straightened, Derek stood right in front of him. Stiles barely stifled a girly scream.

“Holy crap!” Stiles hissed as he punched Derek in the arm. “Are you _trying_ * to scare me to death?”

“I thought you heard me,” Derek said.

“Dude, you know I can tell when you’re lying, right?”

Derek’s eyebrows clearly said that he didn’t care if Stiles knew he was lying. In fact, they wanted Stiles to know he was lying.

“Then why can’t you tell when I’m standing right behind you?”

Stiles didn’t have an answer for that. Except, “You suck. Come on,” he said as he started towards the front door.

“I’ll meet you up there,” Derek said.

“Alright, but . . . the window’s locked,” Stiles finished to empty space. He shook his head and continued into the house. Stiles passed his dad on the stairs, where one of them very nearly took a header over the banister because Stiles’ bags took up so much space. (Stiles managed to catch himself.)

Derek was lying on Stiles’ bed when Stiles walked into his room, hands behind his head, a smug expression on his face. “My dad could’ve heard you come in!” Stiles whispered as he closed the door.

Derek gave him a look that Stiles interpreted as, bitch, please!

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Okay, whatever, you’re, like, Mr. Stealth.” He dumped his bags and sat down in the desk chair, rolled it closer to the bed. “Did you find out anything last night?”

Derek’s eyes lost the hint of amusement. He sighed as he stared up at the ceiling. “No. There was a scent . . . .”

“What about it?” Stiles asked, leaning forward.

“It seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place it.”

“Maybe because you fought the Alpha the other night,” Stiles said, and then he smacked himself in the forehead when he realized what he’d said. “Hey! You fought the Alpha the other night!”

“I know,” Derek said. “I was there.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

Stiles just stared at Derek, and then he banged his head against the mattress. “I can’t believe I didn’t ask you this before.”

“Ask me what?” Derek growled. “You’re not asking me anything.”

“When you fought the Alpha, I’m presuming that you got up close and personal with him. Did you recognize him, or notice anything that could help us?”

“I noticed that he was very strong,” Derek said dryly.

“He didn’t kill you,” Stiles said in wonder. Maybe Derek wasn’t in danger, after all. At least, not from the Alpha.

“Close enough,” Derek said.

Stiles glared at Derek. “You said you weren’t hurt badly.”

“I said, I healed,” Derek replied.

“Later, we’re going to talk about you withholding stuff from me. Right now I want to make my point.”

“You have one?”

Stiles ignored that. “He killed Laura, but he didn’t kill you. He could have, right? I mean, if he’d wanted to? Killed you to get to Mr. Harris?”

“He was strong enough,” Derek admitted. “Maybe he doesn’t deal well with having his plans changed.”

“Or maybe he’s not as strong as you thought,” Stiles said hopefully.

Derek snorted. “Why don’t we let him toss you around for a while and then you can tell me if he’s strong or not.”

“I just meant . . . his shape is all wrong, and he doesn’t have a pack yet. Maybe he has some weakness we don’t know about.”

Derek looked skeptical, but he said, “Maybe.”

“Alright, we’ll just let that idea simmer, ‘cause I’ve got something to tell you, too. My dad brought some files home last night.” Stiles glanced towards the door even though he could hear the sounds of feuding families from downstairs. “I snuck a look at them. My dad’s discovered the connection to the fire, and I know why the Alpha went after Mr. Harris.”

Stiles told Derek what he’d read in his dad’s files. Derek shook his head.

“Idiot. Trying to impress some pretty girl in a bar.”

Stiles didn’t say anything in response to that – they both knew who that pretty girl had to be.

“We’re still not any closer to figuring out who the Alpha is, though.”

“We are,” Stiles said. “I didn’t have time to work on the traffic camera footage last night, but tonight I’m gonna finish it.” Stiles cracked his knuckles to emphasize his point.

Derek didn’t look impressed. But he would be.

“Watch and wonder,” Stiles said as he rolled the chair back over to the desk.

“I do,” Derek said dryly. “Every day.”

~*~

Stiles lost track of time as he went through the remaining traffic cameras, fast forwarding and then carefully studying the screen for any sign of the Alpha. When he finally caught a blur in one corner, Stiles pumped his fist. When he turned around to share the news with Derek, Stiles found him asleep on his bed. Again.

Stiles froze, mouth open to speak, and just watched Derek lying there. He rarely got to see Derek this relaxed, and Stiles felt a welter of emotion at the thought that Derek felt comfortable enough with Stiles to let his guard down and fall asleep. Stiles returned to his task. He marked the sighting on the map and recalculated the Alpha’s trajectory back, then saved the relevant portion of the recording to his file and pulled up the next traffic camera.

Stiles had to pause his search when he heard the television go off and his dad’s footsteps on the stairs. Stiles opened his bedroom door and leaned against the door jam.

“You going to bed soon?” Stiles’ dad asked, frowning, but lowering his voice when Stiles put a finger to his own lips in a ‘shh’ gesture.

“I’ve got just a little more homework to do,” Stiles lied as he pointed towards his bed.

His dad peered into Stiles’ bedroom, the frown easing, his expression going almost soft when he saw Derek asleep on Stiles’ bed.

“I don’t think he gets much sleep out there,” Stiles whispered.

Stiles didn’t need to clarify where ‘out there’ was. He could see that his dad understood.

“If he spends the night, you’re sleeping in the guestroom,” Stiles’ dad said.

“There is nothing . . . .” His dad’s expression brooked no argument. “Alright, fine.”

Stiles accepted his dad’s hug, and might’ve given a hug of his own in return, and kiss to the side of his head.

“Sleep well.”

“You, too.”

Stiles watched his dad walk down the hall to his bedroom, then slipped back inside his own room and softly closed the door. Stiles queued up the next traffic camera and returned to his search. He spotted the Alpha once more before hitting pay dirt. Stiles watched the shift three times before he was convinced that he’d seen the faint figure of a man transform into a beast. Stiles wanted to wake Derek then and share the news with him, but the man was still too far away from the camera to make an ID.

Stiles checked three more cameras before he found a close-up shot of the man walking down the street. Stiles couldn’t be certain that it was the same man, but there weren’t many people out walking at that time of the night, in that part of town, so he was pretty confident. Stiles zoomed in and did what he could to enhance the image. The man looked slightly familiar, but Stiles couldn’t place exactly where he’d seen him before.

A sound from behind Stiles had him turning around quickly. Derek had sat up and was staring at the screen as if he’d seen a ghost. Derek was still making the sound that had alerted Stiles, a soft keening, like the cry of a wounded animal. It made all the hairs on Stiles’ body stand up.

“Derek,” Stiles said softly, trying to gently wake Derek from whatever nightmare he must’ve still been embroiled in.

Derek’s eyes snapped to Stiles’ face. They glowed blue. “Where’d you get that?” he growled, indicating the screen.

“The traffic camera footage,” Stiles said, wondering if the good news about now being able to put a face to the Alpha might snap Derek out of whatever was bothering him. “I think that’s the . . . .”

“Alpha,” Derek finished.

“Yeah.”

Derek leapt from the bed and shifted fully.

“Whoa, Derek!” Stiles said. “Don’t do anything rash. I mean, just because we have a face doesn’t mean we don’t stick to the plan, or that we even know where to find him.”

Derek seemed galvanized by Stiles’ comment. Instead of just standing there, looking all pained and menacing in his werewolf form with no outlet for whatever emotion was coursing through him, Derek emitted a low grown and turned towards the window.

Before Stiles could stop him, Derek was out the window. Stiles leaned out and hissed Derek’s name, not wanting to wake his dad, or the neighbors. The only response he got was a howl in the night. Stiles could hear the pain in it, and it sent a shiver through him. He closed the window and returned to the computer. Stiles printed off a photo of the man and saved the footage to his hard drive. He sat in his chari and studied the image, wondering where he’d seen the man before.

Stiles didn’t think he’d seen him around town, or at school. He thought he’d remember the expression on the mans’ face, if nothing else about him. He reminded Stiles of Kate, with that bit of crazy malice in his eyes. But if not during the course of a normal day, then it had to be from the research he’d been doing.

Stiles got down the box and took out his own files. He flipped through the file on the murders, but there was no photo, or even a description that matched the man. Stiles opened his secret file on the fire. Aside from the Arson and Coroners Reports, there were only a couple of newspaper clippings about the fire and the status of the investigation. Stiles unfolded them and read the headlines: _Fire That Killed 8 Ruled Accidental_ ; No Leads In Deadly Fire; _3 Survive – House Fire Kills 8_.

Stiles couldn’t help looking at the photograph of a shell-shocked 16-year old Derek huddled with Laura, the photo probably taken just moments after they’d found out about the fire. His gaze moved down the page to the photograph of Peter Hale, the only other suvivor. It was a photo taken some time before the fire, because he wasn’t burnt, and he was awake and smiling.

The blood froze in Stiles’ veins as he laid the traffic camera image and the newspaper clipping side by side. Peter Hale had been in a coma for the past six years. Was supposed to still be in a coma. But that appeared to be the case no longer. Peter was smiling in the image Stiles had taken from the traffic camera, but it didn’t resemble the smile from years ago in the slightest. That smile reached his eyes; in this image, there was only madness in them.

Stiles’ hands shook as he put the files back into the box and returned the box to its hiding place in his closet. His brain was having a difficult time making the connection, but Derek’s reaction to Peter Hale’s image on the screen didn’t lie. Peter Hale, Derek’s uncle, was the Alpha. And he’d killed Laura, his own niece.

~*~*~*~

Stiles did not sleep well that night. He kept imagining how Derek felt, discovering that the uncle he’d thought was in a coma had been the werewolf committing the murders avenging the Hale fire. Had become the Alpha by killing Laura, Derek’s sister.

Stiles wondered where Derek had run off to, where he was hiding in a most likely poor attempt to deal with his pain. He’d tried to contact Derek, texting him every hour. He’d even tried to call, leaving Derek a frantic voice message to please call him back. Stiles hadn’t heard from Derek.

Since he’d been awake most of the night anyway, Stiles had intended to stop by the Hale house before school to check on Derek, but as always seemed to happen with bouts of insomnia, he’d fallen asleep just minutes before his alarm went off, and rather than running early, he ended up running late.

Scott had asked Stiles what was wrong, but Stiles couldn’t talk about it at school, so Scott was coming over to Stiles’ house after practice. Stiles intended to stop by and check on Derek first, and then he’d tell Scott about how he’d discovered who the Alpha was. Stiles had done an amazing job with the traffic camera footage, but he couldn’t even feel good about it. Not until he knew that Derek was okay. As okay as he could be, anyway.

Stiles checked his phone one more time, hoping futilely that Derek might’ve gotten back to him while he’d been on the field for practice, during which time he’d been distracted by scanning the surrounding woods for a hint of Derek’s presence. Stiles threw the cell into his duffel bag and leaned against his locker. All he wanted was to go home and sleep for a week, but he couldn’t do that until he heard from Derek. Stiles lethargically grabbed his t-shirt and pulled it on. He felt like he was moving through Jell-o, had felt that way the entire day. Which probably explained why he was the last one in the locker room.

Stiles turned at a noise, expecting it to be Scott coming back to look for him. It wasn’t.

“Derek,” Stiles breathed. Relief at seeing Derek whole and safe, at least physically, warred with irritation for making him worry. “Where have you been?” Stiles demanded as he threw himself at Derek.

Derek returned the hug almost by reflex, remaining stiff in Stiles’ arms.

“I was worried about you!” Stiles said, loosening his hold on Derek and stepping back so he could see Derek’s face, but not releasing him.

The response, when it came, wasn’t from Derek.

“Well, isn’t this sweet,” Peter Hale said as he stepped around the end of the row of lockers and came into view.

Stiles froze for a second, and then his fingers tightened on Derek’s arms. “What’s he doing here?” Stiles angrily whispered.

“I can hear you, you know,” Peter said, as if he didn’t really care.

“Derek!” Stiles hissed.

“He’s our Alpha,” Derek said.

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat at Derek’s words. “He’s _the_ Alpha,” he clarified.

“I told Derek that I wanted to meet the rest of my pack,” Peter said.

“You and I are not pack,” Stiles insisted. “Wait.” Stiles stared hard at Derek. “You _told_ him about me?”

An expression of guilt crossed Derek’s face but was quickly gone, hidden behind the blank nothing he’d been wearing since Stiles had seen him.

“Derek,” Stiles said, suddenly more concerned for Derek than that Peter knew about him. “What did he do to you?”

“I just reminded my nephew of his place,” Peter said.

The tone with which he spoke the words sent a shudder through Stiles. Derek’s lips tightened into a thin line, but he didn’t say anything to that comment.

“Derek, you’re scaring me,” Stiles said. “Say something.”

“Peter’s our Alpha,” Derek repeated.

“Besides _that_ ,” Stiles said. “Because he is not my Alpha. Laura was my Alpha. Have you forgotten that he killed her?”

Derek’s jaw worked. “I haven’t forgotten anything.”

“Because it seems like you have,” Stiles said. “What happened to killing him?”

“Oh, he tried,” Peter said, sounding amused. “When given the choice between dying and joining me, well, Derek didn’t want to die. Did you, nephew?”

“No,” Derek bit out.

“Especially after I explained that killing Laura was an accident,” Peter said smoothly.

“An _accident_?” Stiles spat.

“Yes,” Peter said. “An accident. Do you really think I wanted to kill one of the few remaining members of my family?”

“You just said you were going to kill Derek,” Stiles couldn’t help pointing out, no matter how t odds it put him with Peter.

Peter gave a smarmy smile. “But I wouldn’t have _wanted_ to. And now you have the same choice,” Peter told Stiles.

“What, join you or die? I’d rather die than call the piece of crap who killed Laura my Alpha!” Stiles said.

“If you insist,” Peter said calmly, his claws coming out.

Stiles couldn’t help the spike in his heart rate, or the clenching of his fingers on Derek’s arm, which he still held.

“No,” Derek gritted out. “You promised.”

“Promised what?” Stiles asked.

Peter sighed. “So I did.”

“Derek, promised what?”

“To try and convince you,” Derek said at the same time Peter said, “To not kill you right away.”

“Comforting,” Stiles said as he took a step closer to Derek when Peter took a step closer to him.

Peter reached out and curled his fingers around Stiles’ neck before Stiles could move further away. Stiles winced when Peter dug his claws into his skin.

“What are you doing?” Stiles gritted out as his knees began to buckle.

“Giving you a window to my soul,” Peter said.

“Do you even have one?” Stiles said, grinding the words out through the pain.

Peter withdrew his claws. “My motivation, then,” he said as he dispassionately watched Stiles fall to his knees. “We’ll talk later,” Peter told Stiles. “Let’s go, Derek.”

Stiles reached for Derek, fingers flexing convulsively as the pain from whatever Peter had done to him coursed through his body. “Derek.”

Derek looked torn for a moment, but then his expression went hard and he stepped back. Stiles’ hand fell from where he’d been clutching at Derek’s jeans and landed on the floor, sending a shooting pain into his neck. Stiles felt tears sting his eyes as Derek walked away from him, but the ache in his heart at Derek’s betrayal was overshadowed by the burning pain in his neck from Peter’s claws.

No, from the fire, Stiles realized as he collapsed. The flames were all around him, and the smoke, and the screams. Even the cool tile of the locker room floor felt hot against his skin. Stiles dug his claws into the tile and tried to drag himself away from the pain, but he was overcome by the vision, or whatever it was, because it felt so real that Stiles had to dig his claws into his own palm to keep from screaming as he watched his loved ones die, as the skin was seared from his own bones. Even worse than the screams were the pleading looks they all gave him – his wife, his brother, his nieces and nephews, his sister-in-law the Alpha – save us, save us, save us . . . .

The hallucination finally ended. Stiles didn’t know how long it had lasted, but it had felt like forever. He was afraid to move, to unbend his fingers in case the skin cracked and the flesh fell from his bones, to lift his head in case he saw the carnage around him. Stiles stayed on the floor, praying that it had all been a horrible nightmare.

Which was, of course, how Scott found him.

“Stiles, what’s taking you so long? Did you fall asleep in here . . . Stiles?”

Stiles heard the concern in Scott’s voice, but he couldn’t reply. His vocal chords had been damaged by smoke inhalation. No, that wasn’t right. His throat was raw from the screams. But no, that hadn’t been him, that had been . . . . Stiles sobbed.

“Stiles?” Scott said again, and the concern had turned to fear.

Stiles could smell Scott’s fear over the scent of smoke in his nostrils. He felt Scott’s hands slide under him. Stiles tried to protest, to tell Scott not to attempt to move him, but his mouth was too dry. Stiles groaned as Scott rolled him over and then sat him up against the bench.

“Sheesh, you’re heavy,” Scott grunted. “Have you put on weight?”

The way he’d been eating, Stiles wouldn’t doubt it.

“Stiles,” Scott said urgently, gently patting Stiles’ face.

Stiles wondered if his melted skin felt strange to Scott.

“Stiles,” Scott said again, and then he slapped him.

Stiles’ eyes shot open at the small jolt of pain.

“Oh, thank god,” Scott said, relief stinging Stiles’ nose more than the fear had. “No, no, do not close your eyes again!”

“Water,” Stiles said, rasping the word out.

Scott dug through Stiles’ duffel bag until he found the bottle of water. He uncapped it and held it to Stiles’ lips as he drank.

“What happened?” Scott said.

“Derek . . . ,” Stiles began.

“Derek was here? Did Derek do this?” Scott said, his tone sharp with disbelief.

“No,” Stiles said. Peter had, but Stiles couldn’t forget that Derek had just stood there and let him. “Can you . . . help me up.”

“Are you sure . . . okay, fine,” Scott relented when Stiles tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to get up on his own.

Finally Stiles was seated on the bench. He looked at his hands, flexed his fingers. The skin was soft and supple, not charred black and cracking as his memory told him it should be.

“You saw Derek?” Scott said softly.

“Yeah,” Stiles said.

“Why’d he leave?”

Because he chose Peter over me, Stiles thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words out loud. He blinked away the sting of tears.

“Take me home,” Stiles said.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t go to the hospital?” Scott said worriedly.

“Home,” Stiles said as he tried to stand up.

“You don’t even have your shoes on,” Scott protested as he reluctantly assisted Stiles to his feet.

“I don’t care,” Stiles said. “I just need to get out of here. Can you . . . ?” Stiles indicted his duffel bag.

“Yeah, I got it,” Scott said as he threw everything into the bag and then shouldered it and shut the locker.

Scott caught Stiles as he began to tilt and got his other shoulder under Stiles’ arm.

“This is really unfair,” Scott muttered as they walked like that out of the school. “I mean, you’re the one with super strength, and I’ve got to hold you up?” As they moved carefully down the steps, Scott asked, “Um, who’s driving?”

“You are,” Stiles said. He could barely walk, there was no way he could drive.

“Really?” Scott said.

His surprise was justified because Stiles never let anyone drive his baby. Instead of answering, though, Stiles concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, and not putting too much weight on Scott. It took him until they’d nearly reached Betty to notice that Derek was lurking about somewhere. He couldn’t help the automatic stiffening as he wondered if Peter was with Derek, watching him, seeing the effect he’d had on him. Stiles felt a momentary surge of anger at himself for appearing weak in front of Peter. Laura deserved better than that.

“What’s wrong?” Scott said, sensing the tension in Stiles’ muscles.

“Derek’s here,” Stiles said quietly, though he knew Derek would hear him anyway.

“Do you want him . . . ?” Scott said.

“No,” Stiles said sharply.

“Is everything alright with you two?” Scott asked.

“No,” Stiles said sadly. He didn’t think anything would ever be alright again.

~*~*~*~

Stiles stood in the shower and let the hot water run over his head and down his back. He didn’t know how long he’d stood there, letting the tile take his weight, but his insides were still cold, as if the heat couldn’t penetrate his skin, or the warmth had been seared out of him by the vision of the fire. Stiles wondered if this was how Derek felt inside all the time – cold and empty.

Finally Scott pulled back the shower curtain and stuck his hand under the spray. “You idiot,” he said with equal measures affection and concern.

The water had gone cold, but Stiles hadn’t even noticed. Scott turned off the water and wrapped Stiles up in a towel. Stiles just stood there and let Scott dry him off, let Scott help him out of the tub so he could finish the job. Scott helped Stiles to his bedroom, but Stiles drew the line at letting Scott help him into his underwear, so he managed to get dressed by himself, automatically pulling on sweat pants, t-shirt, heavy socks, and hoodie as Scott handed the items to him.

When Stiles was dressed, Scott pushed him down onto the edge of the bed, and then sat down beside him. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Stiles didn’t know if he could, it would hurt to speak of it, but he knew that he had to. He had to tell someone, and not because of some psycho babble about not keeping everything inside, but because without Derek Stiles was all alone in this werewolf thing, and Scott was the only other person who knew.

“Derek’s gone,” Stiles began, his voice rough from _the screams, the smoke_ disuse.

“What do you mean he’s gone?” Scott said. “I thought you said you saw him. He isn’t . . . dead? Did the hunters . . . ?”

Stiles squeezed Scott’s hand until the bones creaked and Scott emitted a pained, “Ow!”

“Can I finish?” Stiles said, not quite smiling at Scott being so Scott.

“Please,” Scott said, pulling his hand out of Stiles’ grip and shaking it.

“I was going to say, Derek’s gone over to the dark side.” Stiles huffed a laugh that held no humor even as he fell back on the familiar.

“What do you mean?” Scott said, sounding confused, as if he wasn’t sure whether he should be laughing or frightened.

“I figured out who the Alpha is,” Stiles said.

Scott looked even more confused at the change in subject. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said morosely.

“Well, who is it?” Scott said.

Stiles looked around. “Did you bring up my backpack?”

Scott slid off the bed and grabbed the pack from where he’d dropped it and the duffel. He handed it to Stiles and sat back down beside him. Stiles fumbled with the zipper, his fingers starting to work even though it seemed to Stiles’ brain like he shouldn’t be able to bend them. He found the printout where he’d stuffed it between two books. Stiles withdrew the photo and handed it to Scott.

“This is him?” Scott said as he took the printout from Stiles and looked at it.

“That’s him,” Stiles affirmed. His voice sounded less rough to his own ears with each use.

“You actually saw him change into that . . . thing?” Scott said, his voice quavering in both excitement and fear.

“Yes.”

“Who is he?”

“Peter Hale,” Stiles said.

“Wait, Hale. Peter Hale,” Scott said. “Isn’t that Derek’s uncle?”

“Yes.”

“I thought he was in a coma.”

“So did we,” Stiles said.

“So, this is . . . ?”

“Yeah.”

“And Derek . . . ?”

Stiles swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m completely and totally screwed,” Stiles said with a laugh that ended in a sob.

Stiles felt Scott’s hand on his back, and then Scott pressed all up against his side as Scott wrapped his arms around Stiles and held him, waiting patiently, which wasn’t any easier for Scott than it was for Stiles, for Stiles to recover.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Scott said, his hand moving gently on Stiles’ back. “In the locker room.”

Stiles turned his face into Scott’s neck and breathed him in. Scott froze, uncertain, but determined to give Stiles what he needed, even if he didn’t understand what that was. Stiles felt guilty for the momentary wish that Derek was the one holding him and offering comfort.

“Derek left,” Stiles said, leaving his head on Scott’s shoulder. “After I found the footage of Peter. He just . . . left. Without telling me anything. I figured out who the Alpha was, and then I tried to contact Derek all night. I texted him, and I left him a voice message, but he never got back to me.”

“Until today.”

Stiles huffed. “Until today,” he agreed. “When I saw him, I was so relieved. I mean, I wanted to punch him for making me worry, but I was so happy to see him.” Stiles hesitated, it was difficult for him to say the next bit. “And then I saw Peter.”

“Peter was there, too?” Scott said, his voice going higher than Stiles could remember since they were twelve. “Why?”

“He wants me to join him,” Stiles said.

“On his killing spree?” Scott’s voice went even higher. “You wouldn’t do that,” he said confidently.

“No,” Stiles agreed. “I told him that.”

“And?”

“I don’t think he liked being told no,” Stiles said, with a humorless chuckle.

“What did he do?” Scott said.

Stiles reached up to touch the back of his neck. “I’m not sure. His claws . . . . Somehow he made me relive the fire, or something. It was like I was there.”

Stiles looked at his fingers again, seeing the blackened claws they’d become superimposed over the unblemished skin. “Everyone was screaming, and I was burning.”

“Jesus,” Scott breathed.

“It was horrible.”

“You’re okay now, though, right?” Scott said.

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “I’m okay now.” Not because it was true, but because Scott needed to hear it.

“So what did Derek say?” Scott asked. “He was there, right?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, the word heavy on his tongue. “He was there.”

“Well?”

“He was with Peter,” Stiles said.

“What do you mean, he was with Peter?”

“With him,” Stiles repeated. “He brought Peter to the locker room. He . . . he told Peter about me,” Stiles said, almost unable to get the words out because they sounded so wrong. Derek _wouldn’t_ have . . . but Derek had.

Stiles bent over, clutching at his belly. He felt as if he’d been _gutted_. As if Derek had reached inside his chest and torn out his heart. He’d never ached this badly before, except when he’d lost his mom and Laura. The physical ache of Derek’s betrayal hurt worse even than the vision Peter had forced upon him.

“Stiles,” Scott said, and Stiles could tell from the rising panic in his voice that he’d called out Stiles’ name more than once.

“Derek said,” Stiles said. “When he thought he might die, because of the wolfsbane, he said to not let the Alpha find out about me because he’d want me to join him. And then he went and _told_ him,” Stiles said. He still couldn’t believe it.

“What happens if you don’t join him?” Scott said.

“He’ll kill me,” Stiles said tonelessly. “And Derek’ll probably just stand there and watch. Just like he did today.”

“Derek wouldn’t let him . . . ,” Scott said.

“Derek couldn’t stop him,” Stiles said.

There was a moment of gave silence as they both contemplated that.

“So what do we do?” Scott said, squeezing Stiles’ hand.

“I have to kill him before he kills me,” Stiles said.

“How do we do that?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles said. “Yet. But I’ll figure it out.” He huffed a humorless laugh. “I don’t have any choice.”

Stiles didn’t say it out loud, but even with Stiles in his pack, Peter would need to turn another werewolf to reach his full strength. Everyone Stiles knew, including his dad and Scott, were in danger. Stiles hadn’t been afraid of Laura, but he was afraid of Peter. There was no doubt in Stiles’ mind that Peter wasn’t sane. Being burned, watching your family die, and then spending six years locked inside your own mind could do that to a person. But Peter had killed Laura. He’d taken Derek away from Stiles. And he was a threat to people Stiles loved.

Just then the door opened and Stiles’ dad stuck his head in. “Hey, I just got home, and . . . . Who died?”

Stiles shook his head. “No one died.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

Stiles sat up straighter. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Nice try, kid,” Stiles’ dad said as he stepped further into the room. “Tell me what happened.”

For the first time in his life Stiles couldn’t think of a single lie to tell his dad.

“Stiles and Derek had a fight,” Scott piped up.

It was a good lie, with just enough of the truth to make it believable. Stiles couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it himself.

“Is that true?” Stiles’ dad said.

“Sort of,” Stiles admitted.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” his dad said. “I know how much you care about him.”

“No I don’t,” Stiles said. He couldn’t even make the lie sound convincing to his own ears.

“If it’s any consolation,” Stiles’ dad said, curling his hand around the back of Stiles’ head. “Derek cares about you, too.”

Stiles couldn’t help the snort of disbelief.

“Don’t give up on him.”

He gave up on me, Stiles wanted to say. Instead he just nodded his head.

“Are you boys hungry?”

“No,” Stiles said, even as his stomach growled.

“Well, you should eat anyway,” his dad said. “Keep up your strength so you can kick Derek’s ass. I’ll order pizza.”

Stiles couldn’t work up enough effort to remind his dad that they’d just had pizza last night – it seemed so long ago – or to get vegetables on at least one of them.

~*~*~*~

Stiles was used to not getting a lot of sleep. Sometimes his brain started going into overdrive just when the normal brain should be shutting down. He’d be wired the next day, his brain jumping even more frantically from topic to topic than usual, making it impossible to concentrate in class. Today he just felt exhausted.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Derek all night. He jumped from remembering the blank expression on Derek’s face while he watched Peter do whatever he’d done to Stiles, and left him lying there writhing on the floor, to worrying whether Derek was alright.

Scott hadn’t wanted to leave Stiles alone, so he’d gotten permission to spend the night. As a result, he hadn’t gotten much sleep, either, Stiles’ tossing and turning having kept him awake, so they were both cranky the next day.

The more Stiles tried not to think about Derek, the more he did. When Stiles found himself reluctant to enter the locker room for practice, and making sure he wasn’t the last one left alone in there when the others ran out onto the field, Stiles put down his mental foot. Enough! Stiles was not going to be afraid of spaces he considered his, and he wasn’t going to give Derek up to Peter without a fight.

“I’m going to go see Derek after practice,” Stiles announced to Scott while they were standing in line to run drills.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Scott said, eyes wide. “I mean, you were in pretty bad shape last night.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said with a little shudder as he remembered the sensation of flames licking at his skin. “But I’m not going to just hand Derek over to Peter without . . . without _trying_.”

“Okay,” Scott said. “I’ll go with you.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said, touched by Scott’s offer. “But I need to face Derek alone.”

“What if Peter’s there?” Scott said.

“Let’s just hope he’s not,” Stiles said. He needed to be able to talk freely to Derek without Peter lurking in the background.

But when Stiles finally got out to the Hale house, no one was there. Stiles could feel the emptiness like a physical thing. Hoping that Derek would return shortly, sans Peter, Stiles decided to wait. He thought about sitting on the rocker that Derek had moved to the back of the house, but he didn’t want to get too comfortable and let his guard down. And god forbid he fall asleep and Peter discover him before Derek returned.

Instead, Stiles went to the one person he felt he could talk to in Derek’s absence. He knelt in front of the tree and looked at the initials Derek had carved into the bark.

“Hey,” Stiles said. “I miss you.”

Laura didn’t say anything. Not that Stiles expected her to. But he could see her smile as if she was sitting right there next to him, her back against her favorite tree.

“But you probably already knew that. Peter’s the Alpha now. You probably already know that, too. He’s kind of a jerk.” Stiles reached up and touched the back of his neck. “And I think he might’ve brainwashed Derek, or something.” It was the only thing Stiles could think of.

Stiles leaned forward and rested his forehead against the rough bark. “I wish you were here,” he whispered. “I don’t know what to do. And if I even figure it out, I don’t think I can do it by myself.”

A breeze rustled the branches above his head. Stiles felt the ghostly touch of fingers soft upon his neck, and heard Laura’s laughter winging away on the wind. For a moment it seemed like she was right there with him, and all was right with the world.

Stiles sat on the hard ground and rested his back against the tree as he’d seen Laura do many times. He told Laura how Derek had been training him, how he’d been successful at holding back during lacrosse, and how his dad and Derek were getting along.

“Kate’s back,” Stiles told Laura. “And Derek almost died. I was really scared. Derek’s all broody and growl-y, but I’ve kinda gotten used to having him around. You were right about him, by the way – I can trust him. At least, I could. Despite our first meeting, which, as I’m sure you know, was kinda rocky.”

Stiles fell silent when the birds did. Someone was coming. Stiles hoped it wasn’t Peter. Or Kate. He extended his senses until he heard the familiar thump-thump of Derek’s heartbeat. He was alone, for which Stiles sent out a silent thank you to the universe.

Stiles waited beneath the tree. Now that Derek was there, he wasn’t sure what to say. Calling Derek an idiot probably wouldn’t be conducive to having a reasonable discussion. A moment later Derek appeared around the side of the house, still damp from the creek, and Stiles’ time for thinking was over.

“What are you doing here?” Derek said, his eyes going to the tree at Stiles’ back.

“What, I can’t come out to visit anymore?” Stiles said sarcastically.

“It’s dangerous,” Derek said, stopping several feet away from Stiles, as if he was trying to keep his distance.

“Because of Peter,” Stiles said.

Derek didn’t bother to respond.

“For you, or for me?”

“Both,” Derek unexpectedly said.

“Then what are you doing here?” Stiles hissed as he pushed himself to his feet.

Derek didn’t answer, which only served to anger Stiles more.

“Seriously, Derek, what the hell are you doing? Joining up with Peter? What were you thinking?”

“He’s my uncle,” Derek said.

“So what?” Stiles said. “He killed Laura. How can you just for get that?”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Derek ground out. “He explained that – it was an accident.”

“An accident,” Stiles repeated in disbelief. “And you really believe that? Do you think it was also an accident when he _cut her in half_?” he said, the words nearly sticking in his throat.

“He’s the only family I have left,” Derek said.

For a moment Stiles couldn’t find the breath to speak. Finally he managed to get out, “What about me?”

Derek’s silence spoke volumes, and Stiles blinked back the tears that stung his eyes, futilely hoping that Derek wouldn’t be able to smell them.

“You know what they say about blood and water,” Peter’s smarmy voice broke the silence.

Stiles couldn’t hide a grimace, and he thought he saw a matching expression on Derek’s face before it was gone.

“What the hell did you do to me?” Stiles demanded of Peter, ignoring the stab of pain at his comment.

“I merely shared my memories with you,” Peter said, as if it had been no big deal.

“Well, it _sucked_!” Stiles said. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he could still smell the smoke.

“As did living through it the first time,” Peter said, his voice taking on an edge that Stiles hadn’t heard from him before this. “I wanted you to understand exactly why I’m exacting vengeance on those who killed my family. Our family,” he added, indicating Derek.

“Fuck you very much,” Stiles said. “And fuck you for letting him do that to me,” he directed at Derek. “I didn’t need that little lesson to understand why you were doing it. All I had to do was remember the expressions on Laura’s and Derek’s faces whenever they talked about the fire. Or didn’t talk about it,” Stiles added with a glance at Derek.

“It might be awful of me, but I don’t even care about the others. As far as I’m concerned, they got what they deserved. And I wish you hadn’t screwed up with Kate, because she is a blight on the face of humanity.”

Stiles ignored Peter’s bitten off, “I didn’t screw up,” and went on.

“But you killed Laura, and I will never forgive you for that.”

“I’ve explained that to Derek already,” Peter said, lips pinched up as if he’d tasted something bad. “Killing Laura was an accident.”

“I don’t believe you,” Stiles said, but Derek interrupted before he could continue.

“Peter’s the Alpha now.”

Stiles turned his anger with Peter onto Derek. “He will never be my Alpha. Laura was my Alpha.”

“Laura’s dead,” Peter pointed out.

“Because of _you_!”

Peter sighed, as if Stiles was being the unreasonable one here. “Can I kill him now?”

“No,” Derek ground out.

“He’s annoying.”

“Really? Because he reminds me an awful lot of you.”

Both Peter and Stiles sputtered at that.

“Back before the fire. When you were sane.”

Peter shrugged, as if he didn’t mind his sanity being questioned. “I don’t see it.”

“You wouldn’t,” Derek said.

“Be careful, nephew. You live on my sufferance.”

“This is the pack you want me to join?” Stiles’ scoffed. “I’d rather be alone.”

“Omegas don’t last very long,” Peter said.

“I’ll manage,” Stiles said.

“Because of your father, and your friend Scott?” Peter said. “Humans can be taken from us so easily.”

Stiles heard the threat in Peter’s words. “You stay away from them.”

“Or what?” Peter said, amused.

“Or I’ll kill you myself,” Stiles promised.

Peter looked surprised at that, and then he laughed, which only pissed Stiles off more.

“You shouldn’t underestimate me,” Stiles said.

Derek gave a low warning growl. “Stiles.”

“No! Don’t you _Stiles_ me. You do not get to _Stiles_ me anymore. You lost any right you had to _Stiles_ me. Because you’re an _idiot_! And a naive fool if you believe anything he’s told you.”

Stiles turned and stomped away after that because he felt the tears threatening again, and he didn’t think he’d be able to hold them back this time.

“Why can’t I kill him?” Peter whined.

“Because you promised to give him a chance to join you.”

“I’ve given him a chance.”

“You didn’t used to be this impatient,” Derek said.

Stiles didn’t hear anymore of their conversation, all of his concentration going to not tripping and falling on his face since he couldn’t see through the tears blurring his vision. Stiles swiped angrily at his eyes so he could see to turn the key in Betty’s ignition. Stiles was angry at Derek, but mostly at himself for letting them see how much he was hurt by Derek’s abandonment.

Stiles turned Betty around and sped down the driveway, his driving erratic. He pulled onto the road and drove until he could no longer sense Derek or Peter, until he was sure they wouldn’t be able to sense him. Stiles pulled over onto the side of the road and let the tears flow freely.

With Laura dead, and Derek’s betrayal, Stiles really was all alone now. Laura had told him what it would be like to be part of a pack, but she’d never told him how it felt to have your pack ripped away from you. She’d probably hoped he’d never find out.

The End of Episode Seven


	8. Episode Eight: one shot and the whiskey goes down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescues and revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Show-level violence and mentions of torture.
> 
> Written: May 17, 2013
> 
> (My apologies for the lateness of this episode. A death in the family sapped me of time and the will to write ~anything. I'm getting back into the groove, though, and have already started writing on episode nine, so there shouldn't be as long a wait for it. Thanks for your understanding. I hope you all enjoy this episode.)

Each time Stiles looked over he kept expecting to see Derek standing on the sideline beside Stiles’ dad, glaring at anyone who tried to speak with him. Even though he _knew_ Derek wasn’t there. He’d never realized before how much of his senses had been filled with Derek until there was a huge gaping hole where he used to be.

Stiles glowered at the spot beside Allison where Kate Argent sat. Of course _she_ was here, he thought. Hoping to see Derek, or rather, make sure Derek saw her, pour a little salt on the open wounds he still carried.

“I hate her,” Stiles said. “This is all her fault.”

“What?” Scott said, distractedly. He’d been paying attention to the game (or, more likely, to Allison). “Who are you talking about?”

Stiles shook his head. “Nothing, sorry, just thinking out loud.”

He had to be more careful, had to remember that, while Scott knew his secret now, he still didn’t know all of Derek’s. Still, he couldn’t keep from staring at Kate, as if he could blow her up with the power of his mind. That would be a cool superpower to have. And solve a lot of his problems, because he could take out both Kate and Peter and that would be that.

Not that Stiles condoned vigilante justice, but both Kate and Peter were two people the law couldn’t touch, which meant they’d never pay for their crimes unless someone (namely Stiles) took matters into their own hands.

After the game and the ritual handshake, Stiles met his dad on the sideline while Scott went to see Allison.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey. Thanks for coming.”

“You know I wouldn’t miss it.” After a pause, Stiles’ dad continued. “I don’t know what happened, but he’ll come around.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said without much conviction.

His dad had been there when Stiles got home the night before, eyes still red from the tears he’d shed during the drive. He’d told his dad that he’d gone to see Derek, and that things hadn’t gone well. He couldn’t tell him more than that without telling him everything, though he could tell that his dad wanted to push for details. To both their relief he held back from doing so.

“Are we still going out for pizza?” his dad asked with forced cheerfulness.

Stiles wasn’t really that hungry (a surprise given his recently increased appetite), but his only other option was to go home and stare at his ceiling. And besides, Scott was looking forward to it. As if merely thinking about Scott brought him into better focus, Stiles heard Scott’s heartbeat begin to race, and his voice was particularly loud in Stiles’ ears when he spoke.

“What do I know about werewolves?” Scott said with a nervous chuckle. “They change on the full moon, right? I mean, everybody knows that. Also, they’re not real?”

“Yeah, Scott and I will meet you there,” Stiles told his dad, and then gave him a quick hug before jogging over to save Scott.

“Stiles is really the one to ask about that. He watches all those movies.”

“Hey,” Stiles said breezily, as if Kate wasn’t interrogating his best friend. “You ready for pizza?”

“Yes,” Scott said, unable to hide his relief at Stiles’ timely intervention. “I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” Allison said, as if it was the cutest thing in the world.

Stiles pretended to stick his finger down his throat and gag. Both Scott and Allison swatted at him before he jumped out of reach.

“Scott says you’re the one to ask about werewolves,” Kate said.

“Werewolves,” Stiles said, trying to sound bored. “I guess. Where’d that come from?”

“Just curious,” Kate said. “What do you know about them?”

Stiles shrugged. “They turn into slavering monsters on the full moon and can only be killed by silver.”

“Silver, yes,” Kate said with a smirk.

“The Wolf Man with Claude Rains and Lon Chaney Jr. is one of my favorite movies,” Stiles told her before turning to Scott. “Start saying goodbye to Allison so we can meet my dad before he decides to leave us with the bill, which means you will be washing dishes, my friend.”

While Scott and Allison held hands and traded sweet nothings and gave each other a chaste peck, Kate moved closer to Stiles. It was all he could do to stand his ground when everything inside him was screaming at him to get away from her.

“I didn’t see Derek here,” Kate said with fake nonchalance.

“No,” Stiles said. “He had something to do this morning.”

“That’s too bad,” Kate said.

“I’m sure,” Stiles said dryly. When Kate raised her eyebrows in question at his tone, he leaned in close and spoke low enough that Scott and Allison wouldn’t overhear. “It must really _burn_ knowing that Derek’s over you.”

Kate’s eyes narrowed, but Stiles didn’t wait around for a response. He headed for the locker room, slapping Scott’s arm as he passed him.

“Let’s go, buddy. The pizza’ll be cold when we get there.”

~*~

“Did Derek show up?” Scott asked as Stiles pulled Betty out of the parking lot.

“No,” Stiles said.

“Not even . . . .” Scott gestured, which Stiles took to mean ‘lurking in the woods’.

“Not even,” Stiles said.

Scott fell silent, even though Stiles could practically feel the questions trying to burst out of him. When Stiles had picked him up before the game, Scott had asked how his talk with Derek had gone.

“Not well,” Stiles had said shortly, not wanting to talk about it. Then he’d added, “Peter showed up.”

“Are you alright?” Scott asked worriedly.

“Physically, I’m fine,” Stiles said with a finality that invited no further questions.

“Okay,” Scott finally said, and Stiles could tell that he was as much relieved to not have to talk about feelings as he was guilty because he thought he should.

Back in the now, the drive to House of Pizza was made in a silence that Scott kept trying to break with comments about the game, or Allison. Finally he asked, “What were you and Kate talking about?”

Stiles smiled, and he could tell without even seeing that it wasn’t a nice one. “Derek.”

“What about Derek?”

“I made sure she knew he was over her.”

“Why do you hate her so much?” Scott asked. “I mean, she gives me the creeps whenever she looks at me, but what did she do, exactly?”

“She hurt Derek,” Stiles said.

“Because they were dating and she dumped him?” Scott ventured. “Because I get that would hurt, I can’t imagine how I’d feel if Allison broke up with me, but it just seems . . . that he really _would_ be over it by now. I mean, if that’s what it was.”

Stiles opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. “It’s complicated.”

“Too complicated to explain to me?” Scott said, sounding the slightest bit hurt.

“Too complicated to explain to you right now,” Stiles said.

Scott studied Stiles for a moment, then said, “Okay.”

~*~

Stiles sensed that someone was lurking inside his room just before he stepped through the doorway. He flung his duffel bag in the direction of the intruder’s heartbeat and then dropped his back pack and leapt after the duffel. At the last minute he recognized the heartbeat, but it was too late to stop his momentum.

Derek snatched the duffel bag out of the air before it hit him and dropped it so he could grab Stiles before they collided. Stiles withdrew his claws, but he punched Derek just because he was sick of Derek sneaking up on him. And mad at Derek for being such a jerk. And hurt that Derek had chosen Peter over him. And it all came out of him with that one blow.

Which Stiles was pretty sure hurt him more than it hurt Derek. Stiles shook out his hand and buried the ow in a hiss while Derek worked his jaw, probed his split lip with his tongue, and glared at Stiles.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles said as he jerked out of Derek’s hands, which had remained gentle on Stiles even after the punch.

“I wanted to see you,” Derek said stiffly.

“Peter send you?” Stiles said.

“No, Peter did not sent me. I’m here because _I_ wanted to see you.”

Stiles snorted. “Peter let you off the leash? I find that hard to believe.”

“Peter doesn’t own me,” Derek said, annoyed.

Stiles raised his eyebrows. “Peter know that?”

Derek sighed. “Stiles, please. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Well, I’m not alright, Derek. I don’t know how you can even expect that I might be. You . . . ! You were the one I was supposed to be able to trust . . . .” Stiles blinked his eyes to keep the tears at bay. “And instead you go all dark side of the force on me! That is not cool, Derek, and no, I’m not alright!”

By the time Stiles finished, he was yelling. After the last word left his lips, the silence that fell was almost deafening.

“You can still trust me,” Derek said, the words sounding as if they’d been dragged from him.

“No, I really can’t,” Stiles said sadly. “Because you chose Peter.” Stiles left off the ‘over me’, but he was pretty sure Derek heard it anyway.

“I didn’t . . . ,” Derek began. He broke off and started again. “I’m doing what I have to. To keep you safe.”

Derek was gone before Stiles could formulate a reply, and he felt as if he’d been punched in the gut again.

“Me, too,” Stiles said to the empty room.

~*~*~*~

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Scott said.

“You didn’t have to come with me,” Stiles told him.

“Yes I did!” Scott said. “I wasn’t gonna let you go out here all by yourself.”

Stiles had called Scott to let him know that he was going to follow Peter, see what he was up to. He’d wanted someone to know in case he didn’t return. Scott had insisted on accompanying him. As dangerous as Stiles knew it might be, he was secretly glad for the company.

They were currently parked down the street from Beacons Crossing Home, the long term care facility in which Peter had been staying while he was in a coma. Stiles had ruled out the Hale house, even though Peter had shown up there yesterday afternoon. He couldn’t see someone like Peter bedding down in such circumstances. Or wanting to torture himself by staying in what was left of the home where he’d lost most of his family.

Unlike Derek, who was all about torturing himself.

And since no one had notified the Sheriff’s Department when he’d regained consciousness, given the lack of anything current in the Hale fire file, Stiles figured that his recovery wasn’t common knowledge. Which meant there was only one place Peter could be if he wanted to continue to fly under the radar.

“Is he gonna be able to tell we’re here?” Scott asked nervously while Stiles tried to pick Peter’s heartbeat (and generally evil aura) out of the many heartbeats inside the facility.

“No,” Stiles said. The truth was, Peter very well might discover them despite the precautions they’d taken – they were driving Scott’s mom’s car and Stiles was wearing Scott’s clothes to try and mask his own scent – but Stiles didn’t want Scott to know that. If he acted nervous, his heartbeat or scent might be the thing that gave them away.

About fifteen minutes later, though it had seemed like they’d been sitting there forever, a nurse pushed a wheelchair out the front door and down the ramp. “That’s Peter,” Stiles whispered.

“Little late to be enjoying a stroll outside,” Scott whispered back.

As they watched, the nurse pushed the chair around the side of the facility. A moment later she returned without it.

“That’s how he did it,” Stiles said as his eyes tried to pierce the darkness for any sign of Peter. Finally Stiles spotted him when Peter stepped onto the sidewalk half a block down the street.

“There he is,” Stiles said quietly, afraid Peter might somehow over hear.

“Are we going to follow him?” Scott asked in a loud whisper.

“Yeah, but we need to let him get further ahead,” Stiles said.

There was very little traffic on the street at this hour, which meant they’d stand out. On the other hand, Peter would be easy to track. Once they got nearer the village, they’d be able to blend in better. Unfortunately, so would Peter. At least he hadn’t changed into his werewolf form and disappeared before Stiles could follow him.

“Why isn’t he, you know, changing? Or even running. He could run fast, right?” Scott asked, as if he’d read Stiles’ mind.

“Probably doesn’t want to draw attention to himself,” Stiles said. “Not here where people could see.”

They followed Peter at a distance, up one street and down another and around in circles. Stiles felt as if they were in a maze with no way out.

“Where the hell is he going?” Scott said.

Stiles had no idea what Peter was doing (though part of him feared that they’d been made and Peter was toying with them), until he saw Peter’s head go back and his nose raised in the air as he scented it. “He’s looking for something,” Stiles said. “Or someone.”

“Us?” Scott said, his voice squeaking.

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t think so.” They’d given Peter plenty of chances if he was looking for them, but Stiles didn’t tell Scott that.

Peter roared a challenge into the night sky, and then he leapt, climbing up the side of the nearest building until he reached the roof. Moments later a red Tahoe came screeching around the corner. Both Stiles and Scott ducked, but not before they saw Kate riding in the front passenger seat.

“He went looking for Kate again,” Stiles said. “I should’ve expected that.”

“Where are they going?” Scott asked when they sat up and watched the Tahoe keep going.

Stiles saw a flash of white in the distance. “They’re following Peter.”

“Where’s _he_ going?”

“I don’t know. Follow them.”

“Follow them?” Scott said in disbelief. “They have weapons!”

“Stay back and don’t let them see us.”

“Stay back,” Scott muttered as he put the car back into drive and pulled out onto the street.

“He’s leading them out to the Preserve,” Stiles said after they’d gone a few miles.

Five miles later the Tahoe pulled onto a service road and braked about twenty yards in. Far enough for the SUV to not be easily spotted from the road. Scott pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the lights and engine just before Stiles jumped out and snuck back to the service road. Hiding behind a tree, Stiles watched four people get out of the Tahoe – Chris Argent, Kate, and two men Stiles didn’t recognize. They were each armed with a crossbow.

Stiles let them get a head start, then stepped out from behind the tree to follow them. Scott grabbed his arm.

“Where are you going?” Scott hissed.

“I’m going to follow them,” Stiles said.

“Can’t we just let them take care of Peter?” Scott said. “I mean, this is what we kind of hoped for before we even knew it was Peter, right?”

“Yes,” Stiles said. “But I have to make sure.”

“Why?” Scott said, and then his expression cleared. “Derek.”

“I’m going to get Derek away from Peter if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Oh my god, don’t say things like that!”

~*~

“What the hell are you two doing here?” Derek growled, keeping his voice low so the hunters didn’t hear him.

Scott yelped and ran into a tree. Stiles jumped a little, but was saved from screaming like a little girl by virtue of having recognized Derek’s heartbeat just moments before he spoke.

“We’re following Peter,” Scott said, rubbing his head.

“Why would you do something so stupid?”

Stiles’ hackles raised. “I wanted to make sure he didn’t kill anyone else. Someone had to,” he added pointedly.

“And now?” Derek said. “There are hunters out here.”

“I know that,” Stiles said.

“We followed them,” Scott offered.

“You followed them,” Derek repeated.

“Stop helping,” Stiles told Scott. He turned back to Derek. “Yes, we followed them.”

“Why?” Derek said, sounding as if it was taking all his effort to not bang their heads together.

“Because I want to make sure they kill Peter,” Stiles said defiantly.

“Stiles,” Derek said wearily. “They can’t kill Peter. They don’t know what they’re up against. There’s only four of them, and he’s an Alpha.”

“Then maybe he’ll kill Kate,” Stiles said mulishly. “And then the hunters will go after Peter full force. Win-win as far as I’m concerned.”

“And we’ll be in their crosshairs as well,” Derek reminded him.

Not ‘we’, though, because they only knew about Derek. Derek would still be in danger from the hunters.

“He’s just trying to save you,” Scott muttered.

“Seriously, stop,” Stiles hissed back.

“I don’t need you to save me, Stiles,” Derek said. “I need you to _be_ safe.”

“There’s one of ‘em!” a voice carried through the woods.

Stiles had been so caught up in his argument with Derek that he hadn’t heard the hunters circling back. Derek roared and turned to face the direction the hunters were approaching from, placing himself between them and Stiles and Scott. Stiles heard the crossbows fire, watched Derek catch two of the bolts out of the air. One thunked into the tree next to Scott’s head, another hit Stiles in the shoulder.

Derek turned and took Stiles and Scott down to the ground. Stiles bit off a scream when it jarred the arrow in his shoulder. Derek bellowed when he saw it, as if he’d been the one shot instead of Stiles.

“I think we got him!” someone yelled.

Derek reached out, hand hovering over Stiles’ shoulder. Finally he took the shaft of the arrow in both hands and snapped the end off, leaving the arrow buried in Stiles shoulder. Stiles had to bite off another scream.

“Get him out of here,” Derek told Scott. “I’m going to lead them away.”

Before Stiles could argue, Derek was gone.

”Fucker moves fast,” someone said, and then there was a gurgle as Derek drove the shaft he’d broken off the arrow in Stiles’ shoulder into the throat of one of the hunters.

“He’s going that way,” Kate said, her voice steady despite the danger, almost vibrating with the thrill of the hunt.

“I think it’s Hale,” Chris Argent said.

“Good,” Kate said. “A reunion.”

Stiles wanted to go after her right then, but Scott held him back. Besides, he wasn’t going to be able to do much through the pain of the arrow still embedded in his shoulder. Finally they were gone, following Derek through the woods. Scott helped Stiles to his feet and got a shoulder under his good arm to help him walk back out of the Preserve the way they’d come in.

“Jesus,” Scott said. “Jesus. He killed a man.”

“They were trying to kill us,” Stiles said as he tried to move without jostling his shoulder.

“Not me!” Scott said. “I’m not a werewolf!”

“And they weren’t taking the time to ask,” Stiles said. “Do you think they would’ve cared if you were collateral damage? They killed Derek’s entire family!”

“I thought Derek’s family died in an accidental fire,” Scott said.

“Right,” Stiles said, gritting his teeth against the pain and mentally smacking himself for the slip.

Luckily for him, just then they emerged out of the woods near where they’d left the car parked. “Where are we gonna go?” Stiles said.

Scott gave him a look of utter incredulity. “I’m taking you to the hospital! You’ve got an arrow in your shoulder!”

“Trust me, I’m well aware of that,” Stiles said as he leaned against the car while Scott fumbled with the key fob. “But I can’t go to a hospital. I’m probably already healing around the arrow.” Stiles reached up and probed the skin around the throbbing wound.

“My mom, then. Or your dad!” Scott said desperately.

“We can’t involve either one of them,” Stiles said as he gingerly got into the car. He waited until Scott ran around the car and got into the driver’s seat to continue. “Neither one of them knows about werewolves, and they’d both want to involve the authorities. Actually, my dad _is_ the authorities.”

Scott started the car. “Maybe we _should_ involve the authorities,” he said.

“Even if they did believe us and not send us both off to the looney bin, they wouldn’t stand a chance against Peter,” Stiles said wearily. “And god forbid they got caught between Peter and the hunters.”

“Then what do we do?” Scott said.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. And he really was. Now he knew how Derek had felt. “But you’re going to have to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Take the arrow out.”

“Me?” Scott yelped. “I can’t . . . .”

“You can,” Stiles said. “You’re the only one who can.”

Scott sighed. “Shit. Is this how you felt when Derek asked you to cut off his arm?” he asked in resignation.

“Yes,” Stiles said, wondering now if he shouldn’t have confessed about his terror that night to Scott. “But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Okay,” Scott said, then repeated it, as if he was trying to build up his courage. “Just try not to get any blood on the seat. My mom’ll kill me.”

~*~*~*~

Stiles opened his eyes when the car engine shut off. “Where are we?”

“Animal Clinic,” Scott said. “They’ve got the, uh, the supplies I’ll need here.”

“Okay,” Stiles said. “Let’s go.”

Stiles needed Scott’s help to get out of the car and into the clinic. Every move made the arrow shift in his shoulder. He leaned against the wall trying to catch his breath as Scott keyed in the password. Stiles barely remembered the walk from the back entrance to one of the exam rooms, but he would forever remember the climb onto the table.

Scott bustled around gathering supplies while Stiles gritted his teeth until the pain subsided somewhat. Scott set the supplies on the table beside Stiles’ hip and studied Stile’s shoulder. “We need to get your shirt and jacket off,” he said apologetically.

Scott eased the material of the jacket over the shortened shaft and then off Stiles’ shoulders and down his arms. He only made a small sound as he poked a finger through the hole in his third favorite jacket before tossing it aside.

“Okay, time for the t-shirt. It’s gonna hurt like hell if we try to take it off over your head.”

The mere thought of raising his arm made Stiles want to weep.

“I’m going to have to cut it off,” Scott said, and then very carefully did just that. Once he’d pulled the material away from the wound and off of Stiles’ body, Scott used an alcohol pad to clean away the blood. “Jesus, I don’t even know where to start.”

“With gloves, Mr. McCall,” Dr. Deaton said, surprising the crap out of them.

They both jumped, and then Scott gave Stiles an accusing look.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said sarcastically. “I had other things on my mind.”

“Um, Dr. Deaton, hi. We, uh, Stiles got something in his shoulder and I thought I could, um . . . .”

Deaton came around the table and peered closely at Stiles’ shoulder. “Your ‘something’ looks like an arrow,” he said with a look at Scott. “Hunters?” he asked Stiles as he snapped on a pair of latex gloves.

Stiles was too shocked at the matter-of-fact way Dr. Deaton was speaking about arrows and hunters to answer.

“It appears that you’ve healed around it. That’s unfortunate.” Deaton looked Stiles in the eyes. “Brace yourself, Mr. Stilinski, this is going to hurt.”

Before Stiles realized what he was going to do, Deaton grabbed the little bit of shaft still sticking out of Stiles’ shoulder and shoved. Stiles’ brain registered the pain, but before he could scream everything went dark.

~*~

Stiles woke up, the scream still lodged in his throat. He sat up, and then belatedly grabbed for his shoulder. There was a small twinge of pain, but nothing like what he’d expected. Stiles looked down at his shoulder in surprise.

“Nearly healed, I’d expect,” Deaton said as he entered the room.

“You shoved the arrow through my shoulder!” Stiles accused.

“Cleaner than trying to dig it out,” Deaton said. “And though you might not believe it, less painful.”

Stiles snorted. He realized suddenly that Scott wasn’t in the room with him. “Where’s Scott?”

“In the office. Sleeping,” Deaton said. “Your ordeal was hard on him,” he added, the hint of a smile playing around his lips.

“Did he pass out, too?” Stiles asked wryly.

“Very nearly,” Deaton said.

Stiles couldn’t tell if he was serious or not.

“I checked the arrowhead,” Deaton said. “I didn’t find any trace of wolfsbane, and your shoulder appears to be healing fine, so I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

The blood rushed out of Stiles’ head and he had to put a hand out to catch himself when the room started spinning.

“Stiles,” Deaton said. “Stiles.” His voice sounded as if it was coming from miles away.

“I’m okay,” Stiles said. “I just . . . I never even thought of that.”

Deaton patted Stiles’ shoulder. “Here, you can wear this.” He handed Stiles a scrub top and Stiles took it gratefully.

“So,” Stiles said after he’d pulled on the top. “I guess you know about werewolves.”

“I do,” Deaton said. “I’ve known the Hales for many years.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say to that. Laura hadn’t told him that there was anyone else who knew about werewolves besides the hunters. “You’re not a hunter, are you?”

“Would a hunter have offered you aid?”

“Probably not,” Stiles admitted. Unless it was some kind of trick. “You didn’t answer the question, though.”

“No, I’m not a hunter.”

Stiles studied Deaton a moment before nodding.

“Laura came to see me when she first returned to Beacon Hills. About the spiral. I’m very sorry for your loss, Stiles.”

“Did Laura tell you about me?” Stiles asked.

“No,” Deaton said. “But I can sense her in you.”

“Do you know Derek?”

“I remember Derek,” Deaton said. “He was young, had little time for things other than sports and girls at the time, I imagine.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, thinking of Kate.

“You should rest today,” Deaton said.

“I’m all healed, though, right?”

“Yes, but the healing takes a lot out of you. Don’t over do it for at least a day.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to leave now,” Deaton said. “I need to get a couple hours sleep before feeding time. Have Scott lock up when he leaves.”

“Alright,” Stiles said. “Thank you. For . . . .”

“You’re welcome.”

“Wait. How did you even know we were here?”

“Oh, you set off my wards,” Deaton said enigmatically.

“Wards?”

~*~

Being shot at with arrows, running for your life, and thinking you’d have to cut an arrow out of Stiles’ shoulder made Scott hungry. Stiles didn’t complain when Scott pulled into the McDonald’s parking lot because it turned out that actually being shot with an arrow, having it shoved through your shoulder, and healing from that also made you pretty hungry. They both ordered two number twos and took a booth in the back so they could scarf them down in peace.

Once they were done, though, Scott said, “So.”

“So what?” Stiles said, licking the tip of his finger to get up the crumbs from his second hash brown.

“So,” Scott said again. “Do you think the hunters saw us?”

Stiles paused in licking the crumbs off his finger. “No,” he said, then finished his task before continuing. “If they’d seen us, even if they couldn’t see us well enough to determine who we were, they wouldn’t have let Derek draw them off so easily.”

Scott nodded. “You know, you’re not going to be safe from the hunters as long as Peter’s alive.”

“I know,” Stiles said. He didn’t add that he wouldn’t be safe from _Peter_ as long as Peter was alive. “I was kind of hoping they’d take care of him last night, but apparently that would’ve been too easy.”

“You got shot with an arrow,” Scott reminded him. “I wouldn’t call that easy.”

Stiles ignored that comment because every time he thought about being shot, he not only remembered the pain, but the fear and anger he’d seen in Derek’s eyes, and that confused the heck out of him.

“At least we know it can be done,” Stiles said. “Putting Peter and the Argents on a collision course, I mean.”

“Yeah, but how do we make sure they actually kill him? Without getting caught in the crossfire this time.”

“We?” Stiles said.

“Like you could do this without me,” Scott said.

Stiles tried not to think about how he really would be alone in this if not for Scott.

~*~

“Have fun at Scott’s last night?” Stiles’ dad said when Stiles walked into the kitchen where his dad was eating breakfast.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, going for the cereal cupboard even though he’d just eaten two breakfasts. His dad remained silent while Stiles poured the cereal and milk into the bowl, but when he turned around to carry his bowl over to the table, his dad was giving him an odd look. “What?”

“Do you smell like McDonalds?”

“What? No!” Stiles scoffed.

Two hours later Stiles jerked upright in his bed, fully awake even though he’d been sound asleep only moments before. It took Stiles a second to realize what had woken him. Derek.

A look around the room convinced Stiles that Derek wasn’t there, and hadn’t been there while he’d been asleep. But his subconscious had come up with something it thought Stiles needed to be awake for. His stomach growled. Healing really did take a lot out of him. Perhaps he’d think better if he had something to eat.

Halfway through eating the sandwich he’d made, Stiles worked it out. Derek had led the hunters away from them last night, and Stiles hadn’t heard from Derek since. The ham and Swiss suddenly tasted like ash in his mouth. Stiles swallowed what he’d already chewed, and then looked at the remainder of the sandwich with distaste. He dumped the rest in the trash and ran upstairs for his wallet and keys. At the last minute he exchanged the scrub top for his own t-shirt and plaid button up, and then grabbed a jacket.

On the drive out to the Hale house, Stiles cataloged all the things that could have happened to Derek. He could’ve been hurt. Stiles didn’t even want to think about the fact that he could’ve been killed, but the notion wouldn’t leave him alone. Derek was fine, Stiles told himself firmly. Derek would be there when Stiles got to the Hale house, and he’d glare at Stiles and ask what he was doing there and tell him to leave. Except Derek wouldn’t do that, and if he could’ve, he would’ve checked on Stiles to make sure he was alright. The expression on Derek’s face the night before when he’d realized that Stiles had been hit by the arrow haunted him.

Even if Derek was fine – which he _was_ , Stiles was driving himself mad thinking otherwise – he’d no longer be safe out here at the Hale house, where he was alone and unprotected. They’d known it was him last night. They knew he’d killed one of their own – if not a family member, a colleague. They knew where he lived. Derek would need someplace to hide.

Stiles drove up to the house slowly, senses taking in everything. The birds and the squirrels froze at his approach, and then resumed once he’d passed them, which meant that nothing was happening at the house that scared them. There was no heartbeat inside the house, but Stiles felt a sense of relief when he pulled Betty around back and saw Derek’s Camaro sitting there.

Stiles got out of the Jeep carefully, his senses on high alert. He didn’t want to be surprised by one of the hunters, or, god forbid, Peter. No one was there. Stiles searched the house anyway, going up stairs that creaked ominously so he could peer into every room. Derek wasn’t there. He could be down to the creek washing up, but Stiles doubted it. Especially since the bucket in which he brought back water sat nearly empty by the back door.

Stiles used the remaining water to refill the rabbits’ water dish. He apologized for not bringing them a special treat, and then gave them a scoop of rabbit food. They nosed at his fingers, but seemed just as happy with the pellets as they would’ve a leaf of lettuce. Stiles felt bad that he hadn’t been out to visit them for a couple days, so he played with them for a few minutes while he waited for Derek to return.

Stiles’ heart felt heavy when he picked up the bucket and, steeling his shoulders, headed for the creek to refill it. Stiles hoped he’d find Derek on the way, but he knew he wouldn’t. If Derek wasn’t here, and he hadn’t dropped by to check on Stiles, that meant something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Stiles left the now-full bucket inside the back door and got into Betty. He started the engine, and then sat looking through the windshield. Unless he wanted to charge into the Argents’ house and ask them what they’d done with Derek, there was only one place he could go for answers. Resigned, Stiles put the Jeep into drive and headed back to Beacons Crossing.

~*~*~*~

“Peter Hale’s room,” Stiles inquired at the front desk.

“Your relationship to the patient,” the bored receptionist asked.

“Family,” Stiles said. He was prepared with an insincere smile, but the receptionist never looked up. She gave Stiles the floor number, but said he’d have to check in at the nurse’s station to make sure Peter could have visitors.

Stiles took the stairs and bypassed the nurse’s station altogether. This close he didn’t need anyone to tell him the room number. Stiles filtered out the stench of medicine and sickness and searched for the scent he remembered from the time Peter had cornered him in the locker room. A moment later Stiles stepped into the room where Peter lay in the bed feigning a coma.

Stiles closed the door softly and walked over to the bed. He stared down at Peter’s still form, wondering if he’d be able to move fast enough to kill him. Stiles figured the answer was no, but it didn’t matter since he needed answers.

“Where’s Derek?” Stiles asked.

Peter didn’t answer. He didn’t react at all, but Stiles wasn’t fooled. He leaned over the bed and hissed, “You tell me where Derek is, or I’m going to throw you out that window while you continue to pretend to still be in a coma, and then you can explain how you not only survived the fall, but miraculously woke up during it.”

Peter’s eyes opened suddenly and Stiles had to keep himself from jumping back in surprise.

“I don’t know where my nephew is,” Peter said.

“Can’t you, I don’t know, sense him or something?” Stiles said, taking a carefully measured step back from the bed.

Peter raised his eyebrows. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you’re the Alpha,” Stiles said. “Don’t you have some sort of bond or something?”

Peter sat up and gave Stiles a look that said he was being adorably ridiculous. “No,” he said. “Why are you so concerned about Derek?”

“Because I can’t find him. He’s not out at the house.”

Peter gave Stiles an exasperated look. “He could be anywhere.”

“He was in the woods last night,” Stiles said. “With the hunters.”

“Is that right,” Peter said. “And how do you know this?”

Stiles only hesitated a moment before saying, “Because I was there, too.”

Peter swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Interesting. And what were you doing out there?”

“Following you,” Stiles said with a bravado that was only partly faked. “Making sure you didn’t kill anyone else.”

“Well,” Peter said. “Aren’t you the most annoying cub ever.”

“Whatever,” Stiles said. “You led the hunters into the woods and then you just disappeared. I thought you were all gung ho about killing Kate Argent.”

“I thought you didn’t want me killing anyone,” Peter said with a creepy eyebrow raise.

“Kate Argent is the exception to my no-killing rule. She should be killed _hard_ ,” Stiles said.

“So you can be a blood thirsty little thing,” Peter said, sounding pleased. “Maybe you’re not a lost cause after all.”

Stiles only _just_ managed to keep from telling Peter that he was also on Stiles’ list of exceptions. “The point is,” he said, getting back to the point. “Derek was there last night. He drew the hunters away from us . . . .”

“Us?” Peter said with interest. “Of course, your little sidekick accompanied you.”

Stiles ignored Peter’s comment. Telling him to stay away from Scott would only ensure that Peter paid him even more attention.

“And I haven’t heard from him since. I checked the house, but he wasn’t there. I was hoping that you knew where he was, or that you might be able to find him.”

“In return for what?” Peter said.

“Excuse me?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Knowing that Derek’s alright isn’t enough of an incentive?”

“You seem to be worried enough about Derek for both of us.”

“And you wonder why I refuse to defect to Team Peter,” Stiles said. “You know what, never mind, I’ll find him myself. I don’t know why I expected anything more from you. I guess I thought you might have the slightest bit of remorse for killing Laura and you might want to do everything in your power to keep your last remaining blood relative safe. When I’m wrong, I’m really, really wrong, but don’t worry, I won’t make that mistake again.”

Stiles turned on his heel and walked out, not caring if anyone spotted him leaving. He brushed past the nurse who’d wheeled Peter out of the facility the night before, but he didn’t bother trying to hear Peter explain to her how and why Stiles knew he’d woken from the coma.

Outside Stiles kicked at the railing. It hurt his foot, but it hurt the railing more. Stiles glanced nervously over his shoulder as he tried to straighten it. It continued to list like a drunken sailor when Stiles was done with it. He hurried over to Betty and drove as quickly out of the parking lot as he could while trying not to draw any undue attention to himself.

Stiles drove back to the Preserve. He pulled into the service road the Argents had parked on last night and just sat there, staring at the trees, fingers white-knuckled on the steering wheel. Derek wasn’t at the house, and he hadn’t sought out Stiles, and Peter didn’t know where he was. There was a chance, no matter how much Stiles didn’t want it to be true, that Derek was dead. That the hunters had caught him last night and done to him what Peter had done to Laura. Stiles didn’t want to think about it, but he had to know.

Stiles texted Scott with stiff fingers that kept hitting the wrong key. _can’t find D, gonna look in preserve_

Scott’s reply came almost immediately, which surprised Stiles, though Scott was probably texting his emo love to Allison. _do u think sthing hpnd to him last night_

Yes, Stiles thought, but he typed back _don’t know_. Denial wasn’t just a river in Egypt.

Stiles silenced his phone, then tucked it and his keys into his jacket pocket. He got out of Betty and made sure the door was locked. Not that there was much of value inside her besides a few CDs, but it was a habit his dad had ingrained in him. He turned to start down the road to where he’d last seen Derek and couldn’t stifle the scream that burst out of his throat.

“What. The fuck?” Stiles said when he could speak again. “Don’t sneak up on me.”

Peter’s raised eyebrows reminded Stiles an awful lot of Derek’s. Except for the madness in his eyes where Derek’s had held sadness. “You should’ve heard me.”

“I had other things on my mind,” Stiles said. “What are you doing here?”

“Your impassioned speech moved me to action,” Peter said.

Stiles snorted. “More like you can’t stand not knowing if your enemy got one up on you.”

Peter shrugged.

“Whatever,” Stiles said. He wanted to tell Peter to get lost, but the Preserve was public property, and the truth was, he could use Peter’s more experienced senses. He needed to put Derek’s welfare above his own discomfort at being around Peter.

Stiles started walking, hoping he was remembering the direction correctly. Finally, just when he was giving upon his own memory, Stiles saw the tree where they’d been standing when the hunters found them. The arrow had been removed, but the tree still bore the mark. He reached up and touched it, his body remembering how much the arrow entering his shoulder had hurt.

Stiles tried to ignore Peter, who was sniffing around. Literally. He knelt and picked up a leaf, studied it before bringing it to his nose. He gave Stiles a considering look.

“What?” Stiles said.

“You were hurt last night.”

Stiles glanced at the leaf, realized that it must bear some of his blood. “What difference does it make to you?”

Peter stood, crushing the leaf before opening his hand and letting it fall back to the ground where it settled gently against the forest floor, and gave an indifferent shrug. “It doesn’t.”

Stiles searched the area for the body of the hunter, or the spot where he’d fallen. The hunters must have removed the body, but they hadn’t bothered to destroy any trace of what had occurred there last night. The trail Derek made after stabbing the hunter was easy to find. It wasn’t as if he’d wanted to make it difficult for the hunters to track him.

“They went this way,” Stiles said, starting off without waiting for Peter to follow him.

It was relatively easy to follow the trail. Once Derek had the hunters on his tail he’d switched tactics, moving through the trees as invisible as the wind, but the hunters following him with more eagerness than stealth hadn’t been so careful.

When the trail crossed a stream, Peter let Stiles find the trail again, watching him as if assessing how well he’d been trained. It annoyed Stiles as much as it made him want to prove to Peter that Laura and Derek had done a good job, that Laura hadn’t made a mistake in choosing him.

Stiles wondered if it was an Alpha thing. Peter wasn’t Stiles’ Alpha, but that didn’t mean Stiles couldn’t sense the power he held. The power he’d stolen. Part of him wanted to slack off, but he didn’t trust Peter to tell him if he came upon Derek’s trail, so Stiles had to use every skill he’d learned to track Derek through the woods. It hadn’t yet been a full twenty-four hours and already Derek’s scent was becoming almost too faint to follow. Stiles had to force himself to remain calm. He knew that if he allowed himself to get frantic he’d make mistakes.

Stiles’ heart dropped into his stomach when he came upon a blood trail. It could have been one of the hunters, but Stiles knew it wasn’t. He wanted to punch Peter when all he said was, “Derek’s been hit,” his tone as uncaring as if he was talking about a stranger.

Finally the hunters’ headlong race through the woods came to an end. Stiles could see the blood spatters where they’d taken Derek down. Stiles’ hands shook even though he was certain there wasn’t enough blood to indicate that Derek had been killed there.

“They moved him,” Peter said.

Stiles pulled his gaze away from his study of the blood drops on the flattened grass and disturbed leaves to the four-wheeler tracks Peter had spotted.

“Where to?” Stiles said, gaze following the tracks that left the same way they’d entered the woods. Stiles followed the tracks. Just like the trail the hunters had left behind, there was no attempt at hiding it.

Stiles lost the trail when they reached the road. He looked left, then right, then left again, as if he could pick out the tracks just by willing it so. “Where’d they go?”

Peter gave Stiles a look, but calmly said, “They either stayed on the pavement long enough to throw off anyone attempting to track them, or they had a truck waiting for them.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” Stiles said. “They have Derek, your nephew. Why?” he went on when the idea hit him. “Why would they take him, instead of just killing him? Not that I want them to kill him.”

“Question him,” Peter said. “They’re probably looking for me.”

“Derek won’t talk.”

“I’m sure they have ways of ‘encouraging’ him to talk,” Peter said with no inflection in his voice.

“Torture?” Stiles said, unable to keep his voice from going high. “Jesus, don’t you care about anything?”

Peter turned dead eyes on him. “I care about revenge.”

“No matter the cost,” Stiles said. “You’re willing to sacrifice what remains of your family to avenge those who are beyond caring about that anymore?”

When Peter didn’t answer, Stiles said, “And that’s why nothing you could say or do would entice me to help you in your vendetta. The living should matter as much as the dead.”

~*~*~*~

Stiles walked the road for miles in both directions, looking for tracks leading back into the Preserve. He was finally forced to concede defeat – he didn’t know where the hunters had taken Derek, but it wasn’t back into the Preserve. When he got back to Betty Stiles slumped in the driver’s seat. He didn’t want to give up the search for Derek, but he didn’t know where to look next.

Stiles reached into his pocket when he felt his phone vibrate. Another text from Scott. Stiles had been ignoring them, too focused on finding the lost trail. He called Scott, barely taking notice of his worried, “Where have you been? Are you alright? Did you find Derek?”

“Do you know if the Argents have four-wheelers?”

“How would I know that?” Scott said.

“On one of your visits you might’ve seen one,” Stiles said with a patience he wasn’t feeling.

“No,” Scott said. “I never saw one.”

“What about a truck and trailer large enough to haul one?”

“No,” Scott said, sounding confused. “Why . . . ?”

“They have Derek,” Stiles said. “I don’t know where they took him.”

“Are you sure . . . ?” Scott said.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Do you want me to come over?” Scott said.

“What time is it?” Stiles said even as he pulled the phone away from his ear to look at it. “Shit, I’ve got to get home before my dad does. I’ve got to start supper and take a shower. I’m pretty sure I’ve got leaves in my hair. I’ll call you later, okay?”

Stiles started the Jeep as he waited to hear Scott’s affirmative, then turned around on the service road, thankful Betty was small, and headed home. Stiles took a shower before looking in the fridge and cupboards for something for supper just in case his dad came home early. He’d been right, there were leaves.

“I don’t know what to do,” Stiles told Scott later that night.

“You could always ask the Argents where they’re holding him,” Scott said distractedly.

“You know,” Stiles said, “I might just do that.”

“What? No! I didn’t mean . . . !”

“Not directly,” Stiles assured Scott. “But they’ll give me the answers just the same.

The next morning Stiles caught Danny before class. “I need your help.”

“You already owe me one favor,” Danny reminded him.

“So I’ll owe you two.”

Danny gave him a look. “What is it?”

“I need to track someone via the GPS on their phone.”

“Oh, is that all?” Danny said wryly.

“Well, there are actually three numbers,” Stiles said, “and I only know one of them. The other are on Allison’s phone. Do you have some nifty app on your phone so you can clone hers?” he asked hopefully.

~*~

“You want me to steal Allison’s phone for you?” Scott yelped.

“Borrow,” Stiles said.

“I don’t think she’ll see it that way,” Scott hissed.

“She won’t find out,” Stiles said reasonably.

“I can’t do this!” Scott said.

“Yes, you can,” Stiles said. “You’ll be fine. Just look into her eyes and she’ll never notice a thing. Besides, it’s tons easier than stealing the bullet was, and you did fine there.”

Scott gave Stiles a look that said, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” but he went when Stiles pushed him out from the tree behind which they were hiding. Allison smiled when she saw Scott, and Scott tripped over his own feet at the sight of it. Stiles rolled his eyes. They sat on one of the benches and leaned into each other. Scott glared at Stiles over Allison’s shoulder when he made a ‘hurry up’ gesture.

Scott took Allison’s hands in his and she set her phone on her lap so they could better hold hands. Scott pretended to catch it and set the phone on the bench between them, giving it a little flick so it was mostly behind Allison. Stiles immediately swooped in and snatched up the phone, werewolf reflexes the only thing that kept him from dropping it. He recorded the numbers in his own phone as quickly as he could.

Stiles pretended to trip and pick up the phone he’d supposedly knocked off the bench. He handed it back to Allison, saying, “Sorry,” as she accepted it from him.

Stiles felt a pang of guilt when Allison bestowed her smile on him, but it dissolved when Stiles imagined what her family might be doing to Derek right that minute.

“I’ve got the numbers,” Stiles told Danny.

“I saw,” Danny said. “Smooth.”

~*~

Danny hacked into the Verizon website to access the accounts so he could turn on the GPS in the phones because there was no way Stiles could guess Derek’s username and password (Stiles’ might be ‘sourwolf’, but he was leaning towards ‘emowolf’ for Derek’s), much less Chris Argent’s or Kate’s.

Danny turned on Derek’s GPS first, but nothing showed up on the map. “It’s either turned off or the battery died,” Danny said.

Stiles tried not to let his mind consider whether Derek was also dead by now. He’d already been in the Argent’s hands for two days.

“Try this one next,” Stiles said, indicating Kate’s number.

Danny dutifully typed in the number. The phone was on and the map showed Kate’s location to be the Argent’s house. Not surprising, given the time. Kate probably did her dirty work during the day or late at night when she wouldn’t be missed.

They did Chris Argent’s number last. He wasn’t home, but he was inside the Beacon Hills village limits. Given the street location, probably getting gas. Stiles didn’t think he’d have Derek hidden someplace where anyone could hear him. Still, he’d keep an eye on the little red dot, make sure Chris Argent didn’t stop somewhere out of town for any length of time.

“Can I keep these all open?” Stiles said.

Danny didn’t say anything, just opened the three maps in different browsers.

“And can I record them?”

Danny gave him a look.

“I can’t watch it 24/7,” Stiles said. “I need to sleep and go to school.”

Danny typed for five minutes while Stiles waited impatiently.

“What have you gotten into?” Danny said.

“Remember when you said you didn’t want to know?”

Danny nodded.

“You still don’t want to know.”

“Is it dangerous?” Danny huffed a sigh when Stiles didn’t answer. “So it’s dangerous enough that you can’t tell me what’s going on, but you have no problem coming to me for help.”

“Yes,” Stiles agreed. “But in my defense, it’s important, and I don’t know anyone else who could help me.”

Danny showed Stiles how to access the GPS recording and declined Stiles’ dad’s invitation to stay for dinner. Later, while Stiles sat on his bed, supposedly reading for Chemistry while he kept one eye on the maps, Stiles thought about how true his words had been. Without Derek he was truly alone. There was no way he could get rid of Peter on his own. And the longer he went without finding Derek, the worse shape Derek would be in when Stiles _did_ find him. Because Stiles was not going to even think about any other option.

Stiles needed help, but his options were limited. Scott would have his back, but wouldn’t be much help against Peter or the Argents. What they needed to do, still, was set Peter and the hunters against each other. Peter had show than he was interested in going after Kate, and the Argents would go after the Alpha out of duty, even if some of them loved their job more than others. Scott would do what he could, but Stiles needed more help than Scott alone could offer. Stiles could no longer afford to be guided solely by Laura’s admonition against telling anyone. As telling Scott had proven, telling people he trusted wouldn’t bring about the end of the world.

~*~

Stiles sat at the kitchen table turning the photo around in his fingers. Telling Scott had been easy because Stiles knew from the moment he woke up with enhanced senses and abilities that Scott would think it was as cool as Stiles thought it. (Stiles hadn’t taken crazy Alphas or psycho hunters into account then.)

The front door opened and closed, and weary footsteps moved down the hall towards the kitchen. Stiles’ fingers stilled and he held his breath.

“Hey,” Stiles said when his dad appeared in the doorway.

His dad’s hair was disheveled from the fingers he’d probably combed through it in frustration during the day. His brow creased in confusion.

“How come the rest of the house is dark?”

Stiles looked past his dad to the darkened hallway beyond and realized that the sun had gone down while he’d been sitting at the table waiting for his dad to come home. “I’ve been sitting here a while, I guess. I didn’t notice it get dark out.”

Stiles’ dad stepped into the kitchen. “Stiles, is something wrong?”

“Yes,” Stiles said.

The expression on his dad’s face – part gobsmacked that Stiles had admitted it, and part terrified of what might be so horrible that Stiles would actually need to speak to him about it – almost made Stiles change his mind. But he needed to tell his dad. And more importantly, his dad needed to know. Stiles couldn’t keep something this important from him. He deserved to know, not only because it affected him through Stiles, but also through his job.

“I’m fine,” Stiles assured his dad. “But we need to talk. It’s important.”

Stiles’ dad set his hat on the table, and then took the chair across from Stiles. “What is it?”

Stiles watched his dad’s hands on the table, fingers clasped. The pose appeared casual, relaxed, but Stiles could see the tension in his muscles, hear the hammering of his heart.

“I know who’s been killing people, the deaths that appeared to be animal attacks, Laura. And I will tell you everything,” Stiles said quickly to forestall the questions he could see in his dad’s eyes. “But you need to do one thing first. Before I tell you the story, and it’s a long one, I need you to understand what’s at stake.”

His dad stared at Stiles, and Stiles could see the war behind his eyes, between agreeing to Stiles’ terms and attempting to force the story out of him right that second.

“What?” his dad finally said, and Stiles let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

Stiles looked at the photo once more, then slid it across the table to his dad, who gave Stiles a look before picking it up and glancing at it.

“What’s this?” Stiles’ dad said, waving the photo at him.

“It’s a photograph,” Stiles said. “Of Kate Argent from six years ago.”

(Facebook had been a new phenomenon then, and luckily for Stiles, Kate hadn’t been able to resist.)

His dad gave the photograph a more careful look given that new information. “And what am I supposed to do with it?”

“Put it in a photo array and show it to Mr. Harris,” Stiles said, swallowing hard to wet a mouth gone suddenly dry.

“Why would I . . . ?” his dad began, then trailed off when understanding filled his eyes. “Are you implying that Kate was the one to . . . .?”

“No,” Stiles said. “I’m saying it flat out. I know she did it. I just need you to know she did it, too.”

“How do you know?” Stiles’ dad said, confused.

“Laura told me.”

“Does Derek know? Of course he does,” Stiles’ dad answered his own question. “Why the hell didn’t they say anything?”

“They had their reasons,” Stiles said. “Which I will tell you all about. When you get back.”

“I believe you,” Stiles’ dad said. “I’ve seen the way Kate looks at him.” His gaze dropped to the photo. “She knows that Derek knows, and that he can’t, or won’t, do anything about it.”

“Yes.”

“And that knowledge brings her as much pleasure as the fire brought Derek pain.”

“Yes,” Stiles agreed again, his throat going tight as tears stung the back of his eyes. “It’s almost as if you’ve met her,” he said with a sniffle that tried to be a laugh.

“Stiles, tell me, please.”

“I will,” Stiles said. “When you get back.”

His dad didn’t like it, but he left without further argument. Stiles didn’t know how long it would take his dad to arrange for the photo array, and to then sneak out to wherever the safe house was in which they were keeping Mr. Harris. Stiles used the time to think about supper – deciding on sandwiches. They needed to eat, but Stiles didn’t think they’d be able to give a nice and proper meal the focus it deserved – and the GPS maps. Derek’s phone still hadn’t turned on, and Chris Argent hadn’t done anything or gone anywhere out of the ordinary. But Kate was a different story.

Kate’s phone had been turned off for several hours during the night. Stiles would’ve thought that perhaps she’d turned it off when she placed it on the charger for the night, but it had been turned back on at the unlikely hour of two in the morning. Besides, Kate seemed to be the type who wouldn’t want to miss a good hunt, and so would keep her phone on at all times. Unless she was doing something she didn’t want disturbed, even by her family or another hunter. Like torturing Derek.

Thinking of Derek out there alone, maybe believing that no one was looking for him had been the final straw. Stiles needed help. Even if Scott insisted on helping, it wouldn’t be enough. As much as it pained Stiles to admit it, his dad was the best man for the job next to Derek. If he couldn’t have another werewolf at his back (or a rogue hunter – did they even exist?), then the man Beacon Hills had elected as its Sheriff, and who knew how to handle a weapon was probably more than he could hope for. Even if part of him hated the fact that he could be putting his dad in danger.

~*~*~*~

Stiles heard the tic in the engine of his dad’s cruiser just before he turned onto their street. He got out the sandwich fixings and began putting together their dinner. Stiles tried to concentrate on the sandwiches, but his dad was a constant presence at the back of his mind. He heard the cruiser pull into the driveway, heard the front door open and close, heard the soft shush of material as his dad took off his hat and coat and hung them up.

Stiles’ dad usually removed his service weapon and locked it up when he was home and off-duty, but he was still wearing it when he stepped into the kitchen. He still looked a little bit tired around the eyes, but his posture was that of a man reinvigorated.

“You know who the killer is?” Stiles’ dad asked.

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

Stiles set the plates on the table and gestured to a chair. His dad looked like he wanted to argue, but then he sat down and waited for Stiles to return with a bag of chips (baked) and glasses for the milk. His dad was studying the sandwich when Stiles sat across from him.

“You put bacon on my sandwich.”

“It’s a turkey club,” Stiles said.

“Bacon,” his dad repeated.

“I can take it out, if you want,” Stiles said, reaching for the plate.

His dad pulled the plate closer and put a protective arm around it. “No. I just wanted to know what I’d done – or rather, what you’ve done – for me to deserve it. Is what you’ve got to tell me that bad?”

There was a note of steel beneath the attempt at humor in his dad’s voice.

“That depends on how you define bad,” Stiles said, picking at the chips. He couldn’t bring himself to take a bite of the sandwich, afraid he might not be able to swallow it.

His dad gave him an exasperated look.

“It’s not bad,” Stiles said. “Well, not personally bad, like flunk out of school bad, or even another detention from Harris bad, but it is going to take some . . . flexibility on your part.”

“Flexibility?”

“Yeah, like mental flexibility. A willingness to believe in the impossible.”

“Stiles, just . . . please.”

“Like I said, it’s a long story.”

“Then just give me the short version. You can fill in the details later.”

“Werewolves are real,” Stiles blurted out before he could rethink it.

His dad’s face did this thing where you could tell he was both disappointed and frustrated. Before he could accuse Stiles of wasting his time, Stiles went on.

“And I can prove it. Please don’t shoot me.”

Stiles shifted. His dad jerked back so hard the chair he was sitting in went up on the two back legs.

“Because I am one,” Stiles said, the words coming out slightly garbled around his fangs.

Stiles shifted back and lowered his eyes. He rubbed his fingers over the marks his claws had left in the table. “Sorry about the table.”

His dad glanced down, then looked back up at Stiles’ face. “Stiles, what the hell? Seriously, what the hell?”

“Werewolves are real,” Stiles repeated slowly, trying to keep his tone even so he didn’t spook his dad any more than he already had. “And I am one. Also, not evil,” he added, just in case his dad was wondering if he needed to protect himself from Stiles.

“I don’t understand,” Stiles’ dad said. “How can you be a werewolf?”

“Werewolves can be born,” Stiles said. “Or they can be made.”

“Made?”

“Bitten,” Stiles clarified.

“You were bitten,” his dad said, as if he couldn’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth. “By a werewolf. How did this happen? When did this happen?”

“About two months ago,” Stiles said.

“Two months ago?” his dad said. “And you’re just telling me this _now_?”

“Laura said that secrecy meant safety,” Stiles said. “She wouldn’t even let me tell Scott, and let me tell you, Derek wasn’t happy when I finally did, either.”

“Laura?”

“Laura Hale,” Stiles said.

“Yes, Stiles, I figured that. What does Laura have to do with this?”

“Uh,” Stiles said. “Laura’s the one who bit me.”

“Laura bit you? Laura Hale. Your tutor. Laura’s a werewolf?”

“Was a werewolf, yes,” Stiles said.

“Stiles, you do know how ridiculous this sounds, right?”

“I do,” Stiles said. “But you saw . . . .” He pointed at his own face.

“I did see,” his dad said. “I’m still not sure I believe. Could you . . . do it again when I’m prepared . . . . Jesus!”

“Still not prepared?” Stiles said.

“Will you bite me if I touch you?”

“No!” Stiles said. “Though you do smell like bacon,” he added as his dad stretched out his hand. Stiles snorted a laugh when his dad pulled his hand back fast. “Joking.”

“Not funny,” his dad said.

“Kinda funny,” Stiles said, but he remained silent and didn’t fidget when his dad’s fingers moved over his face, and then took Stiles’ hand into his own to check out his claws.

“Why did Laura bite you?” Stiles’ dad asked softly, his gaze still on Stiles’ hand.

“My sparkling personality?”

“No, really, why?” his dad said dryly.

“Ha,” Stiles said, and then got serious. “Laura came back to Beacon Hills because of that spiral you were investigating. Turns out it’s the sign of a vendetta among werewolf clans.”

“Vendetta,” his dad repeated.

“Laura needed a third beta in her pack to make her strong enough to face whatever had left the spiral. She chose me because I was smart, and in part because I was the Sheriff’s son.”

“Do I even want to know why that is?”

“No?”

“Does it have anything to do with how you knew Mr. Harris had talked to an unknown female before the Hale fire?”

“Maybe?”

Stiles’ dad sighed. He circled his fingers at Stiles’ face. “Could you . . . ?”

Stiles shifted back, and his dad studied his face as if to assure himself that it was really Stiles. He nodded, as if satisfied.

“What does Derek Hale have to do with this?”

“He’s been training me. Since Laura . . . disappeared.”

“Training you for what?”

“To be able to control myself during the full moon, to learn how to use my enhanced senses, to not give myself away by doing something out of character, like becoming a lacrosse god overnight . . . .”

“So Derek is also a . . . ?”

“Werewolf, yes.”

“And these animal attacks?”

“A werewolf,” Stiles said. “Not Laura or Derek,” he hurriedly added. “Or me.”

“There’s another werewolf in Beacon Hills,” his dad said.

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Peter Hale.”

“Peter Hale is in a coma,” Stiles’ dad said.

“Not so much,” Stiles said.

“You know this for a fact?”

“I’ve spoken to him,” Stiles said.

“When?”

“Last Thursday. And Friday. And Sunday,” Stiles said. “In my defense, the first and second times were not my choice, and the third time was only because I was worried about Derek.”

“Thursday, huh?” his dad said thoughtfully. “Does this have anything to do with why the two of you fought?”

“Yes.”

His dad gave Stiles a look that said, “I need more than that.”

“Derek deserted Team Stiles, which was really Team Laura, and joined Team Peter,” Stiles said. “But he hasn’t hurt anyone! He’s just confused. Peter’s the only family Derek has left now that Laura’s dead. Of course, that was Peter’s fault, too, so . . . .”

“Wait, Peter killed Laura?”

Tears stung Stiles’ eyes. “Yes. The bastard.”

“I’m surprised he’s still alive,” his dad said wryly.

“He wouldn’t be, if I had anything to say about it,” Stiles said. “Peter’s strong. Derek managed to save Mr. Harris that night, but he got his ass kicked.”

“Peter’s stronger than Derek?”

“He’s stronger than me and Derek put together,” Stiles said. “But now it’s just me.”

“Because Derek’s on Team Peter?”

“Because Derek’s missing,” Stiles said.

“What do you mean, Derek’s missing?”

“Derek has been missing since Saturday night. I tried to look for him on Sunday after I realized, but I couldn’t find him. I followed his trail, but it ended . . . .”

“You followed his trail,” Stiles’ dad said, as if he was trying to imagine it. He shook his head. “What do you think happened to him?”

“I think the Argents have him.”

“Why would the Argents have him?”

“Because they’re werewolf hunters,” Stiles said. “Not to mention that Kate is a psycho bitch who killed most of Derek’s family. They’re looking for Peter, though they don’t know it’s Peter yet. She wouldn’t think twice about torturing the information out of Derek.”

“Jesus Christ,” his dad said. He rubbed his hands over his face. “Stiles, do you have any idea how fantastic this all sounds?”

“Yes. But you showed the photo to Harris, right? He picked Kate out of the photo array?”

“Yes,” Stiles’ dad admitted. “But still . . . .”

“I know,” Stiles said. “Trust me, I know.”

“Is this why you finally told me?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Stiles said. “But I don’t have anyone else I could turn to. I mean, there’s Scott, but . . . .”

They shared a commiserating look, but then Stiles’ dad frowned. “Wait, did you say that Scott knows? You told Scott before you told me?”

~*~*~*~

“Somehow I feel like we’ve only touched the surface of this whole werewolf thing,” Stiles’ dad said as he finished off the sandwich Stiles made him eat before continuing with the story.

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” Stiles told him.

Stiles took their empty plates and set them in the sink. He poured more milk into their glasses and then got down on his knees to reach into the back of the cupboard that held the roasting pans they’d rarely used since his mom died. His dad’s eyes went wide when Stiles’ arm emerged from the cupboard holding an unopened package of Oreos, and then he narrowed them at Stiles’ hiding place.

“You hide things from me.”

“It’s for your own good,” Stiles said unrepentantly, opening the package and digging out a handful of cookies.

Stiles’ dad sighed as he dug out a handful for himself. “Bacon _and_ Oreos.” He shook his head. “Start at the beginning. And don’t leave out anything.”

So Stiles started at the beginning. He told his dad about meeting Laura and being bitten, what she’d taught him about being a werewolf, and how she’d trained him under the guise of tutoring him in math. And how they’d been investigating the murders.

“Stiles,” his dad said, half frustration, half resignation.

“In my defense,” Stiles said. “Laura thought the killer was a werewolf because of the spiral. She knew your department wouldn’t be looking at that possibility. And besides, she would be better able to handle that. She thought,” Stiles added, remembering that Peter had killed Laura. Though in _her_ defense, she probably hadn’t been expecting a deadly attack from her uncle. “And I was worried about you if she was right.”

“You still interfered in an on-going investigation,” his dad said.

“Technically, we didn’t interfere,” Stiles said. “It’s not like you would’ve believed Laura if she’d come forward and said it was a werewolf. And you didn’t even know we were looking into it ourselves.”

Stiles’ dad’s eyes narrowed, and Stiles knew that had been the wrong tack to take.

“Okay, fine, I was wrong, but could you wait until after we’ve found Derek to yell at me? Please?”

His dad sighed. “Alright. But you need to tell me why it’s so important to you to find Derek. I thought the two of you had argued, and that he was on Team Peter now.”

“All true,” Stiles said. “But he still came by to check on me, and he kept Peter and the hunters from killing me, so . . . .”

“Killing you?” Stiles’ dad said.

“Did I say killing me? I meant . . . .”

“Do not,” his dad said. “Lie to me. Not even by omission. Has someone tried to kill you?”

“Technically Peter has only threatened to kill me and the hunters were following Peter and ended up shooting at Derek instead. They only hit me by accident before Derek drew them off.”

“They _hit_ you?” Stiles’ dad stood up so fast he knocked over the chair. “With what?”

“A crossbow, but I’m fine,” Stiles said as his dad rounded the table and looked him over to make sure there weren’t any bleeding wounds.

“Where?”

“My shoulder, but . . . .”

His dad tugged at Stiles’ shirts. “Show me.”

Stiles managed to get out of the shirts, only getting tangled up once. His dad stared at Stiles’ shoulders, then reached out to touch just in case his eyes deceived him.

“There’s no marks,” he said in wonder.

“Yeah. Benefit of werewolf healing,” Stiles said. “Where was that when I was seven and falling off my bike all the time, huh? Not to say that a crossbow bolt through the shoulder doesn’t hurt like hell, but I really am fine now.”

“Stiles,” his dad said, sounding a little bit broken.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. “I never meant to worry you.”

“I’m your father, Stiles. It’s my job to worry about you.” His dad pulled Stiles into a fierce hug, and then he gripped Stiles’ shoulders and looked into his eyes. “Is that the only time you’ve been hurt like that?”

“Yes,” Stiles said. “I swear,” he added at his dad’s skeptical look. “It’s not something I’d want a repeat performance of.”

“When and where did this happen?”

“Saturday night in the Preserve,” Stiles said.

“The same Saturday night you were supposed to be at Scott’s?”

“Um, yes?”

“What the hell were you doing out in the Preserve?”

“Following Peter.”

“Following Peter,” his dad repeated.

“I had to make sure he didn’t try to kill anyone else.”

“And I suppose Scott went with you.” When Stiles’ guilty silence spoke for itself, his dad shook his head. “Jesus, do neither of you have any kind of survival instinct at all?”

For once Stiles did not try to wise crack his way past that rhetorical question.

“What happened?”

“We followed Peter around town. He led us in circles and at first we thought he knew we were there, but he was looking for the hunters. When he found them, he led them to the Preserve.”

“And of course the two of you followed them.”

“Yes. I wanted to know,” Stiles said. “If they managed to kill Peter. Or if Peter managed to kill Kate. Either one would’ve worked for me,” Stiles muttered.

“I thought you were trying to keep Peter from killing anyone?”

“I was. Kate doesn’t count. After what she did to Derek she deserves to die in the most slow and horrible manner possible.”

Stiles’ dad ignored his sudden thirst for blood and revenge. “You said Laura told you about Kate?”

“Yes. When she told me about hunters and explained to me the need for secrecy.”

“Okay,” Stiles’ dad said. “We’ll talk about that later – Kate _and_ you keeping secrets from me – but right now I want to hear more about Saturday night. You followed Peter into the Preserve, and then what?”

“We had to go slow because of Scott’s asthma and we lost them, but Derek found us and kinda yelled at us for being there. The hunters must’ve lost Peter because they circled back. They saw Derek and started shooting.”

“Without bothering to identify who they were shooting at?”

“I don’t think they cared,” Stiles said. “You know, some of Derek’s family were completely human. Kate killed them anyway.”

“Jesus. Okay, go on.”

Stiles shrugged. “I got hit, Derek knocked us out of sight and told Scott to get me out of there, and then he ran off and the hunters followed him.”

“And then?”

“We got out of there,” Stiles said.

“To where? Because I know for a fact that you didn’t come home _or_ go to the hospital.”

“Um . . . the Animal Clinic?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The Animal Clinic,” Stiles repeated. “Scott thought there might be supplies there he could use to cut the arrow out.”

“Cut the arrow out,” his dad said, as if he’d only just realized what they’d had to do to remove the arrow from Stiles’ shoulder. “And did Scott manage to do this?”

“No. I’m sure he would’ve, but Dr. Deaton showed up. Apparently he knows about werewolves?”

“Is that right?” Stiles’ dad said dangerously.

“The point is,” Stiles said before his dad could linger on the fact that Deaton hadn’t been completely forthcoming. “Derek has been missing since then. If he could’ve, he would’ve come to check on me, I know it.”

“Okay,” Stiles’ dad said. “Then we need to look for him.”

“I already have,” Stiles said. “I went out to the house Sunday morning when I realized. The only ones there were Bunny and Rabbit. Then I went to ask Peter if he knew where Derek was. I thought maybe he could sense Derek,” Stiles said, speaking over any protest his dad might’ve made. “As you might’ve figured, he wasn’t much help. So I went back to the Preserve to look for him and Peter showed up. The only thing we found were some drops of blood and four-wheeler tracks that ended at the road. I know they have him, Dad, and I’m afraid of what they’re doing to him.”

“We’ll find him, Son,” Stiles’ dad said, squeezing his shoulder.

“I, um, please don’t be mad, but I might have hacked into their cell phones to try and find him.”

“Whose cell phones?”

“Derek’s. And Chris Argent’s. And Kate’s.”

“We’ll talk about the legality of that later. What did you find out?”

Stiles told his dad how much of nothing he’d discovered. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

Stiles’ dad shook his head. “We’ll figure it out, I promise. We’ll find Derek, and then we’ll stop Peter, and then I’ll figure out a way to prosecute Kate.”

Stiles didn’t tell his dad that Peter couldn’t be stopped, or that Kate would never allow herself to be prosecuted. Instead, he said, “We sort of had a plan to stop Peter.”

“What kind of plan?” his dad asked suspiciously.

~*~*~*~

“You expect me to stand by and let these hunters just . . . murder a man?”

“Peter’s not a man,” Stiles said. “He’s a werewolf. You don’t have special prisons for werewolves, not to mention special restraints or transport vehicles. And Peter is . . . Peter is not sane, alright? The only thing he’s living for right now is revenge. And he’s not above killing anyone who gets in his way. Case in point,” Stiles added, indicating himself.

“Why, exactly, does Peter want to kill you? Aside from how annoying you can be, I mean.”

“Funny.”

“I mean, I’d think he’d consider you family,” Stiles’ dad finished, only taking a little bit of pleasure in that little zing.

“Need I remind you that Peter killed Laura, his actual flesh and blood? Also, when Derek thought he was going to die, he warned me to make sure Peter, well, the other werewolf, since we didn’t know it was Peter at the time, didn’t find out about me because if he did he’d want me to join him, and apparently where crazy Peter is concerned, if you’re not with him, you’re against him. He can’t take the chance that I’d do anything to stop him.”

“I wonder where he’d get the crazy idea that you’d do something like that,” Stiles’ dad said wryly.

Stiles shrugged and managed a grin. “Me neither.”

“So, when did Derek almost die?”

“Uh,” Stiles said. “A couple weeks ago? Remember the night you came home and Derek and Scott were here and I told you Derek was sick?”

“Yes.”

“The night before that, Kate got back to town. Peter found her and attacked her. Kate went after him and shot Derek, who was tracking Peter, by mistake.”

“I though you, werewolves, could heal from something like that?”

“Normally, yes, but this wasn’t a regular bullet. It was loaded with wolfsbane, which is poison to werewolves.”

“How did you manage to counteract the poison, this wolfsbane?”

“Derek needed a sample of the same wolfsbane. He lit it on fire and packed the bullet wound with it, and viola!

“How’d you get your hands on the wolfsbane?”

“Scott was there that night; he stole one of Kate’s bullets.”

“Jesus, what was he even doing . . . oh, right, the daughter, what’s her name again?”

“Allison.”

Stiles’ dad nodded his head. “Allison.”

“So, anyway, that’s why I told Scott. I figured he’d just risked his life to save Derek’s, he deserved to know. As you might imagine, Derek was Not Happy About It, but he let me tell him.”

“The Argents,” Stiles’ dad said. “Twice now they’ve gone after Peter and shot someone else. They don’t appear to be very careful or disciplined.”

“I think it’s more a matter that they just don’t care,” Stiles said. “As far as they’re concerned, the only good werewolf is a dead werewolf.”

“Do they know about you?” Stiles’ dad asked fiercely.

“No,” Stiles said. “And I’d like to keep it that way.”

“You and me both, kiddo. What about Derek?”

“What about him?”

“Will he tell them?”

“No,” Stiles said. “Derek won’t tell them.”

“You said they’re probably trying to torture Peter’s name out of him, are you so sure he won’t give them yours?”

“Yes,” Stiles said. “I am. Derek’s so fucking loyal he probably won’t even give them Peter’s.”

“Would you?”

“In a heartbeat,” Stiles said. “If I thought they weren’t going to just kill me once I gave him up.”

“Tell me how you really feel about Peter,” Stiles’ dad said with a faint wry smile.

“Since you asked . . . .”

“When has that ever stopped you?”

“. . . I will. I think Peter is creepy and insane. I think the fire, the death of almost his entire family, and being locked inside his own mind for six years did that to him. And you know, I’m not proud of it, but if he’d only killed people who’d colluded in setting that fire or covering it up, then I’d pat him on the back and tell him not to do it again. But he killed Laura, his own niece, and I will never forgive him for that. And I don’t think he will stop killing. I don’t know if he can.”

His dad was silent for a moment, then he spoke. “You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?”

“I’ve thought of little else since I discovered that the werewolf we were looking for was Peter. Well, that and trying to figure out how to get Derek out of his evil clutches.”

“How did you determine that it was Peter?” Stiles’ dad asked. “I don’t think you said, and normally you’d be shouting something like that from the rooftops.”

“Are you sure you wanna know? Deniability, and all that.”

His dad sighed. “Just tell me.”

“Traffic cams.”

“How did you . . . ? You hacked into the traffic cameras?”

“It was ridiculously easy,” Stiles said. “You should really beef up your security. If I can do it, the hunters probably can, too.”

Stiles’ dad sighed again and rubbed a hand over his face. “I see an entire security overhaul in our near future.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And a grounding.”

“Is that really necessary? I mean, we were just trying to help.”

His dad just gave Stiles a look.

“Okay, fine, but not until after we find Derek and take care of Peter . . . in any way you see fit, right?”

Stiles’ dad made him sweat it out for a few seconds before saying, “Fine, after that.”

Stiles let out a breath. “Okay, good, but before you make up your mind on what to do about Peter, you need to see what you’re up against.”

Stiles got his laptop and showed his dad the traffic camera footage he’d saved of Peter in his Alpha form attacking Kate’s car, and then the change so that he could be sure that the werewolf he’d just seen was in fact Peter.

“What the hell was that?” his dad said when Stiles ended the playback.

“That was Peter in his werewolf form.”

“You don’t look like that!”

“No. And neither does Derek. We just do the . . . .” Stiles waved his hands around his face. “. . . wolf man change. Laura could change into a full wolf form because she was the Alpha. When Peter killed her he got her power, but he changes into this . . . misshapen thing. Laura was beautiful, he’s just . . . insane.”

His dad just stared at the laptop, though Stiles knew he wasn’t really seeing it, but was seeing Peter change into his Alpha form and attack Kate’s car.

“You can’t stop him when he’s in that form,” Stiles said. “He’s too strong, and he’s lost all reason.”

“I know what you’re saying, Stiles, and I know what I just saw. I just need to think about it.”

“Alright,” Stiles said. He knew his dad well enough to realize that rushing him wouldn’t help matters. “In the meantime, do you have a GPS tracker?”

“Why would I . . . ? What do you want it for?”

~*~

Stiles’ dad handed off the GPS tracker the next night at the game. “I signed this out for an open case in which we don’t actually have surveillance planned or authorized,” his dad said, clamping his fingers around the tracker before Stiles could pluck it out of his hand. “I need it back.”

“You’ll get it back,” Stiles said, crossing his fingers behind his back and silently promising to make it up to his dad if he couldn’t return it.

Stiles gave the tracker to Scott in the locker room. Scott looked at it, sighed, and then shoved it into his pocket.

“I hate doing this,” Scott said.

“Dude, I know that Kate is creepy scary, but she’s got Derek.”

“It’s not that,” Scott said. “Well, it is that actually, a little bit, but . . . lying to Allison.”

“Oh, yeah. I know what you mean.”

“Who’re you lying to?”

“My dad,” Stiles said. “All the time.”

“But you’re not lying to him now, right? He knows everything?”

“He knows as much as I think he can handle,” Stiles said.

~*~

Stiles went out for pizza with his dad after the game while Scott went over to Allison’s house. Stiles and his dad stopped off at the Hale house to feed and water Bunny and Rabbit on the way home. And for his dad to assure himself that Derek really wasn’t around. When they got home Stiles went to his room to do homework and wait impatiently for Scott’s text. His dad went into the living room and turned on Wheel of Fortune.

Stiles didn’t even bother with the pretense of getting ready for bed. He let his dad know when Scott’s text came in and they argued about his dad accompanying him when the little red dot on the computer screen began to move. Stiles argued that his dad couldn’t get involved officially in what was basically a werewolf–hunter conflict, and also that he needed to use his werewolf stealth to get in and out quickly and quietly without being spotted.

His dad’s response was that there was no way he was letting Stiles go out on his own against hunters, even if he was a werewolf with enhanced abilities. They’d finally compromised that Stiles would approach the location in which they were holding Derek alone while his dad did a drive by of the area so he would be in the area to offer his support, and that they would be in communication at all times.

Stiles pulled up the GPS map and sat on his bed with the laptop on his lap, waiting for the blinking red light that gave the tracker’s current location as the Argent garage to start moving. Stiles roused when his alarm beeped at midnight. He’d set his watch alarm to go off every fifteen minutes in case he dozed off. The red dot was moving, which meant that Kate was on the move.

Stiles didn’t jump off the bed even though his heart leapt in his chest. The last two nights (Stiles had checked again last night, because he also apparently liked to twist the knife), Kate’s phone had gone dead for two hours. That meant Stiles had time, even though moving with secrecy left Derek in Kate’s hands for one more night. The idea of Derek being tortured while Stiles sat and waited ate at him, but if they didn’t want Kate to know how Derek had escaped Stiles couldn’t go rushing in while she was still there.

Stiles tried to anticipate where Kate was headed as he watched the dot move through Beacon Hills. He figured that the Argents must have some hidey hole out in the more rural area outside of the village, so Stiles was surprised when the dot stopped moving inside the village limits. Stiles waited to see if the dot started up again – Kate may only have stopped at a red light. When two long minutes ticked by Stiles zoomed in on the map to determine where Kate had Derek stashed.

“Son of a . . . ,” Stiles said when the nearest street names became visible. It was near where Peter had first attacked Kate on her return to Beacon Hills, the warehouse district where Kate had shot Derek.

Stiles opened the program on his phone, making sure he could track the blinking red dot in case it moved before he got there, and then turned off his computer. He left the phone on the bed where he could keep an eye on it while he changed his clothes. He put on black jeans, a black t-shirt, and a black windbreaker. He hadn’t bothered with a new pair of shoes, but he did dig out an LA Dodgers ball cap (that he’d received from a distant relative of his mom’s who clearly didn’t know him at all) from the back of his closet to cover his distinctive haircut.

Stiles’ dad snorted when he saw him. “I take it it’s time?” he said calmly.

His dad looked wide awake for a man whose snores had been rattling the floorboards just moments before. Stiles nodded and told his dad where he thought Kate was holding Derek. Stiles went out the back door, keeping to the shadows, while his dad went openly out the front. Stiles heard his dad radio into dispatch to let them know he couldn’t sleep and so was going to do a drive around town. Stiles was too far away to hear the night dispatcher’s reply.

Stiles answered his phone when it rang moments later and inserted the headphone into his ear. “Hey, Dad.”

“Be careful, Stiles.”

“I will,” Stiles promised.

When Stiles was still a couple blocks from the warehouse district, he slowed his step and increased the play of his senses. There were a lot of faint heartbeats in the area, and after a brief attack of the sweats when he imagined Derek in a gladiator-type arena surrounded by hunters baying for his blood, he realized it was rats and other vermin when one of them skittered across his path. Stiles paused for a moment to catch his breath. He checked his phone. The red dot hadn’t moved.

Stiles darkened his phone so the light wouldn’t give him away and moved closer, sticking to the shadows. He stumbled in relief when he sensed Derek’s presence, and then clenched his fists when he realized that the sudden flare of awareness had reached him because Derek was in pain. Stiles extended his hearing in an attempt to hear what was going on. He caught the grating tone of Kate’s voice before a bat flew at his head and reminded him that he needed to pay attention to his near surroundings so he didn’t walk into a trap.

Stiles crept through the shadows, senses alert for a look out, a trip wire, anything that might give away his approach, while his dad’s voice spoke softly in his ear, letting him know at all times where he was in relation to Stiles’ final destination. For a moment he sensed his dad as he passed near to Stiles on his drive-by. Finally Stiles found Kate’s car hidden between two buildings. He was tempted to remove the GPS tracker to return to his dad so Scott didn’t have to get it back later, but he needed to make sure that Kate was really gone when she finally left Derek alone.

Stiles pinpointed the warehouse Kate and Derek were in, and then narrowed his focus to determine where inside the building she was holding him. He found a spot where he could hide and wait. “I’m in position,” he told his dad, speaking softly.

Stiles checked his watch, then closed his eyes and just listened. Now that he knew where they were, Stiles could hear them clearly – Kate’s mocking tone and Derek’s growls and eventual screams filled his ears. The scent of his own blood filled his nostrils from where Stiles had bitten through his lip, where his claws had scored bloody grooves in his palms. Each sound of her voice made Stiles rethink the stealth plan. If he went in there now he could take out Kate with no one being the wiser. Except his dad would know, and there’d be disappointed looks over the breakfast table. Or through the bulletproof glass in the prison visiting area.

Finally the torture was over. Both Derek’s and Stiles’. Stiles’ heart was racing and his breaths coming fast. He focused on slowing both as he listened to Kate’s parting shots as she left Derek in the warehouse. Stiles waited silently while Kate locked up and returned to her car.

“She’s leaving now,” Stiles said.

Stiles listened as Kate pulled away before double-checking her location on the GPS map on his phone.

“I see her,” Stiles’ dad said. “She’s heading towards the Argent’s house.”

Only when Kate was on the other side of town and no one else had approached the warehouse did Stiles stand up from his hiding place. The pins and needles were immediate, and then thanks to werewolf healing gone nearly as quickly. With a final look around, and a listen to make sure no one was approaching, Stiles jogged over to the door Kate had used.

“There’s no one else around,” Stiles told his dad. “I’m going in.”

The door was padlocked. In his anger, Stiles broke the lock easily, and then gingerly pushed the door open. He’d hunkered down his senses in case a loud alarm went off, but when one didn’t he extended his senses to make sure that he and Derek really were alone.

Stiles slipped inside the warehouse and closed the door behind him so nothing looked amiss. He heard a low growl from the basement – Derek knew he was there.

“I’m coming, sourwolf,” Stiles whispered as he searched for the steps to the basement. He finally found them after two offices and a janitorial closet and carefully descended the stairs. Stiles had expected it to be one large room, but it had been closed off into several rooms. Stiles went directly to the door behind which Derek’s growls emanated.

Stiles tried the knob and it turned in his hand. She’d been so sure of herself, Stiles thought. He would love to be a fly on the wall to see her face when she got here the next day to find Derek missing, and no sign of how he’d gotten free.

Derek’s glare was the first thing that Stiles saw when he pushed the door open, followed by the sight of his manacled wrists raised above his head, the chain holding him drilled into the ceiling and the wall for good measure. Stiles was so happy to see Derek’s scowling face that he ignored it and rushed over to him. “Derek!”

“Don’t touch me,” Derek gritted out.

“Are you hurt?” Stiles said, looking him over for wounds that weren’t healing. There were more than a few, which made Stiles want to hurt Kate even more.

“Elec–tricity,” Derek got out as a spasm ran through his muscles.

It was all Stiles could do to not reach out and grab Derek. “Can you . . . ?” Stiles made a show of pulling the chains out of the wall.

Derek glared harder. “Would I still . . . be here if I could do that?”

Stiles forced himself to remain calm and examine the manacles around Derek’s wrists and saw where the electrical wires had been attached to them, sending a steady current of electricity into Derek. Stiles studied them to determine a way he could disconnect the wires. He didn’t care if he got a jolt of electricity in the process, so long as he could free Derek from the torment.

“Just turn off the breaker switch,” Derek ground out.

Stiles glanced at Derek’s face, and then followed his angry head tilt to the breaker box behind him. Stiles rushed over and reached for the switch. Before he could pull it, the door he’d stepped through mere moments before hit the wall behind it hard.

“What’s going on in here? Hey, you, stop!”

Stiles pulled the switch. The lights went out, and the low hum of electrical current that had been teasing at Stiles’ senses like an itch under his skin went silent.

Derek roared.

“Oh, shit,” the hunter said, and a spray of bullets hit the spot where Derek had been standing moments before.

Now that he could transform, Derek easily pulled the chains out of the wall. Instead of leaping towards the hunter, as he’d expected, Derek leapt backwards, knocking Stiles to safely. As soon as Stiles was out of the way Derek went for the hunter, who look startled to see Derek hurtling towards him out of the dark. Stiles was glad he had werewolf vision or he wouldn’t have been able to believe it himself.

The hunter was easily taken care of, and once he was down Stiles crept out of the corner where Derek had shoved him. He finally registered his dad’s voice coming over the phone.

“Stiles? Stiles! Stiles, what the hell’s happening?”

“We’re fine, dad, just got surprised by a hunter. Derek took care of him. I could’ve helped, “ he told Derek. When Derek’s only response was a glare, he asked, “Is he . . . ?”

The hunter was bleeding from a gash on his forehead where the chains had caught him.

“He’s alive,” Derek said, sounding as if he wouldn’t be averse to changing that fact.

Stiles noticed that he was examining the manacles. “There must be a key around here somewhere,” he said, indicating the work bench full of all sorts of implements he didn’t want to think too closely on.

Derek grimaced as he grabbed the lock on one manacle and tore it open, and then did the same to the other. The manacles fell to the cement floor with a loud clank.

“Or you could just do that,” Stiles said. “Jesus, your wrists,” he said when he saw the raw, red skin. “Why isn’t it healing?” Stiles asked, presuming the injury was from when Derek yanked the chains out of the wall.

“Wolfsbane,” Derek said, staring angrily at his own wrists as if they’d betrayed him.

“Shit,” Stiles said, taking a step closer to Derek and reaching out to touch him. Before he could, Derek pulled his hands away.

“Don’t touch, you might get it on you.”

“Okay, right,” Stiles said, covering up the initial hurt that had bloomed when he’d thought that Derek didn’t want to be touched by him. “We need to find the wolfsbane that she used.”

Stiles turned blindly towards the workbench to look for the wolfsbane, forcing himself to ignore the wicked looking knives and pincers and other things he had no idea what they were, that had Derek’s blood on them.

“There.” Derek pointed, directing Stiles to one end of the workbench.

There were several glass bottles, one holding leaves, another containing a finely ground powder, a third filled with a liquid. “What is she, a burgeoning chemist?” Stiles said as he wrapped the bottles into a cloth so he didn’t get anything on his skin.

As he was walking away, Stiles saw Derek’s phone. He snatched it up and handed it to Derek. “Don’t turn it on, just in case Kate uses it to try and find you.”

“How would she do that?” Derek asked as he pocketed the cell.

“GPS. It’s how I tried to find you.”

“Well, you’re smarter than Kate. She’s more vicious, and a dirty fighter, but you’re smarter.”

Stiles preened at the compliment. “I’d rather be smart than vicious,” he said, “but don’t underestimate my ability to fight dirty as well.”

The hunter Derek had attacked let out an involuntary groan as he rose towards consciousness. Stiles grabbed a taser his mind hadn’t even registered seeing off the workbench and pressed it to the hunter’s chest. The hunter convulsed as his body absorbed the shock. Stiles wrinkled his nose when the hunter’s bladder released.

He dropped the taser on the hunter’s chest. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“I won’t underestimate you,” Derek solemnly said. “Now let’s get out of here before more hunters show up.”

“I don’t understand where he came from,” Stiles said as he followed Derek up the stairs. “There was no one around when I came in.”

“I know,” Derek said. “You must’ve set off a silent alarm when you opened the door.”

“Oh, great,” Stiles said. That meant there were probably more hunters on the way. They needed to get out of there. “We’re coming out,” Stiles told his dad. “Stay hidden, there might be more hunters headed this way.”

“I’m sorry I made you wait,” Stiles said as he followed Derek through the warehouse. It was easier to talk to Derek in the dark, with Derek’s back his audience, rather than Derek’s face. “I wanted to bust in while Kate was there, but my dad frowns on killing people, even when they really, really deserve it.”

“Your dad?” Derek said when they were hidden in the shadows about a block from the warehouse district.

“Yeah, my dad. He kind of knows . . . .”

A police cruiser, headlights off, rolled to a stop beside them. “You boys need a ride?” Stiles’ dad said through the rolled down passenger window.

“About us,” Stiles finished before turning to his dad. “We’d love a ride, thank you. Get in the back and lie down so no one sees you,” Stiles told Derek as he reached for the front passenger handle.

Derek growled, whether at being bossed around by Stiles, or because Stiles had told his dad about them, Stiles wasn’t sure, but he did as Stiles said.

“Home?” Stiles’ dad asked when they were in the car.

“No,” Stiles said. “The Animal Clinic. Derek’s hurt.”

“Why the Animal Clinic?” Stiles’ dad asked as he pulled away from the curb. “Won’t he heal?”

“She used wolfsbane on him, not to mention having him plugged in like a lava lamp. We need Dr. Deaton’s help.”

“I’ve been wanting to have a little chat with Dr. Deaton myself,” his dad said.

“Also, be careful,” Stiles said as a red Tahoe sped past the end of the street they were moving down, headlights still off so they didn’t draw any unwanted attention. “I may have set off an alarm.”

Stiles’ dad sighed. “Of course you did.”

End Episode 8.


End file.
